Elegance and Rebellion

My girlfriend Kim is getting married in ten days. Cannot wait!

In the process of shopping for dresses -- wedding, rehearsal dinner, dancing, whatever -- she came across some gorgeous dresses from Nicole Miller. While Kim's taste runs much wilder than mine (she's younger and more hippie chick), I really like the professional dresses on the Nicole Miller site.



What's more, I appreciate the fact that her marketing team accurately captured the subtle nuance of her style.

Nicole Miller uniquely combines the ideas of elegance and rebellion
to achieve a subtle sexiness that is the essence of modern femininity.

In this world where everything seems to be shifting to ubiquitous mall store fashion (which can be a blessing in a city like ours where style is not a top priority), it's refreshing to see elegance that works.

Dress for Finesse

I just came across the following bit of advice:

[Creative] Directors do not wear band shirts, ripped jeans and Chuck Taylors. If you are looking to move up in the industry, dress for where you want to be, not where you are.

I thought I would adopt the opposite philosophy for myself:

Management consultants should embrace band shirts, ripped jeans and Chuck Taylors. If you are looking to remember that you once had something that remotely passed for personality and yearn for those idyllic days, dress for where you want to be, not where you are.

Customer Service #1

I stopped at the Saks Off 5th at the Niagara Falls Outlet Mall on the way home from a client last night to see if I could find a cute little black dress for an upcoming fund raising event. Nothing looked great on me but two inexpensive dresses -- one Calvin Klein and the other BCBG -- were okay. Just okay.

I asked the woman manning the dressing room what the return policy was: 30 days. "Bummer, I won't be back here until June 4."

She immediately got on the phone to her manager, told her that I cannot return to the store within 30 days and the manager told her that it's okay, she'll authorize it at the register and give me a couple days of flexibility.

Wow. That's customer service!

I went out to buy the dresses (so I can show them to my hubby, mom and sis to get feedback) and lo and behold, realized I had missed a big section of the store. I kept shopping, returned to the dressing room to try on the entire store's worth of little black dresses and, of course, looked heinous in all of them.

Needless to say, an hour later I headed back to the register with my original two frocks and . . . you guessed it, no one knew what I was talking about. "Our management would never agree to that." "Our policy is written; we cannot extend it."

To quote the Eagles, (I'm) "afraid it's all been wasted time."

Late to dinner with my girlfriends for naught. But spared from spending money on something frivolous that accentuates my lumpy body? Yes.

Mommy Cash

"Boy, you're just screaming 'springtime' today," said my husband to me this a.m. as I was leaving the house wearing a black blazer, black shirt, black skirt, black tights, black jacket and black heels while carrying a black purse.

Well at least I'm not in boots nor am I wearing a wool coat!

And, for whatever it's worth, my lipstick is light pink.

Over the past few years I have come to terms with the fact that I have morphed into my mother--who we used to call "Mommy Cash" when we were younger for her myriad black-on-black ensembles. I have somehow become the same woman who would frown upon purchasing, for example, an orange sweater as it would be very impractical.

My mom refused to buy the blue plaid polyester uniform for me when I was in grade school because it was tacky; however, she never seemed to mind that I was the only kid still wearing the "old school" (pun intended?) gray plaid wool uniform a) well into spring and b) when I had grown so much that it had become a micro-mini. (I actually had to wear shorts underneath to avoid showing my skivvies.)

From a fashion perspective, it shouldn't take too much for me to transition into becoming a nun during retirement. This black has become a habit . . .

Oh, I slay myself.

Death CAbi for Cutie

I went to a really fun CAbi trunk show last night and bought this little number.

The picture doesn’t do it justice; it’s as cute as can be. Or maybe it’s just because I’m so stunningly attractive that I can get away with it. (Hmmm, maybe I should close the comments on this posting.)

Actually, I went to the CAbi site before the party, didn’t particularly love the clothes, and vowed that I wouldn’t buy anything. Maybe it was the wine talking but when the clothes were right in front of me, they took on a life of their own. I wanted everything in the collection. Well, maybe not everything—there were some Maude-like dusters that wouldn't behoove me—but I loved more items in the collection than I was prepared to. And, strangely enough, the dusters looked great on some of the women there. I also liked the Veranda skirt but two casual skirts seemed like overkill since I either wear suits or jeans and rarely anything in betwixt.

If I was looking for a new career opportunity, I think selling these clothes in other people's homes could be fun. Then again, I think driving an 18-wheeler would be fun, too. Maybe I should just stick with management consulting.