Adventures In Dress Shopping

Yesterday I attempted to buy a dress. "Attempted" is the key word. By the time I got home after 10, all I had to show for my evening was a dark-chocolate impulse buy, some leaky Diet Coke, a bunch of red grapes and a stomach full of Swiss Chalet. No frock for me.

Because I have a pop-cultured-packed brain, every dress I tried on conjured up a traumatic Tinseltown reference.

First I looked like a Real Housewife of the O.C. Yes, like a well-Botoxed middle-aged woman trying too hard. I hate to use the word "cougar," but....

Then I looked like Goldie Hawn. The geriatric-hippie version.

Then I channeled my inner June Cleaver. I would have purchased that dress if the crinoline were even. But it wasn't. And June would not approve. (And when and where would I actually wear a dress with crinoline?)

Then I looked like a head of lettuce. Which isn't a pop-culture reference, just a fact.

So I decided to stick with the dress I own. I'm going out to celebrate a dear friend's birthday tomorrow, and I'm quite certain there's no rule against wearing something non-new.

The birthday gal also walked away empty-handed. But she almost bought a green dress. Very Joan of Mad Men. VERY. But she doesn't watch Mad Men. So the whole point of this dress-shopping blog entry is to have an excuse to post a picture of Christina Hendricks in her vibrant green curve-enhancing number.

It's a good thing she didn't buy it. Boys' brains would explode.

Betty, Joan and Peggy.

Finally

I officially have boots that don't look like they were chewed up by a lawnmower and then vomited onto an ashy pile of soot and dog poo.

And when given the choice between my true love (brown) and the ever-practical (black), I followed my heart. Because the Geox folks call the shade "coffee." And I can't turn that down.

Once I Go Mac...

...I won't go back. Or so I've heard.


This evening, I ordered the MacBook of my [freelancing] dreams. It won't be long before I'm typing away on the beach. Or in a castle. Or on a mountainside.

Or in a coffee shop. A nice one.

Perhaps I should name it Toby. Because...

Toby Mac, and the Mac is back no slack....

Expect novels to start spewing from my fingertips. At rapid speed. Projectile word vomit.



For those of you who don't get the Toby Mac reference, see below (at 0:55). And pretend it's 1994. Yes, soon I will be THAT cool.



Or I could go with Bernie Mac.
Or Big Mac.
Or Joey (McIntyre).

I should go to bed now.

Oh, wait. MacGyver!!!

The Dream Dress vs. Sweatpants

I thought I was going to a party tonight. It has been canceled. I was actually quite relieved, as a shopping excursion yesterday (meant to infuse my wardrobe with a cooler-than-usual factor) ended rather pathetically. I tried to keep track of how many clothes I tried on. I think it was 51. Or 52. I bought nothing.

I wasn't all that upset about it, just a little weary. And then I went home and raided my closet and actually discovered a couple of combinations that could have made me look semi-fabulous.

At some point in my evening at the mall, I thought I found my dream dress. It was a blatant ripoff of my favorite frock from the Fall 2008 RTW (ready-to-wear) lines. Le Chateau isn't Michael Kors, but it was so close.

This is the runway version of the dress.

It made me look like a slightly overweight linebacker in drag. Pretty impressive, really, as I don't typically categorize myself as such. So I'm glad I tried it on. I'm no longer wondering, "What if...?" Of course, this doesn't mean I've given up on the Kors dream. Just the cheap version.

(The dress, without the belt, is $1895.00. Yes, I looked it up. The belt is $395.00.)

I love fashion, despite all the shopping frustration I endure. I saw Clueless twice in theatres. For the clothing. And for that fancy closet/wardrobe-software system. I still like plaid skirts because of it. And I saw (and own) The Devil Wears Prada, again, because of the clothes (and the post-school, pre-life-crisis issues so wonderfully explored). I know some girls consider cute leading men as eye candy. I think I prefer Chanel.

Speaking of Chanel (types the seque queen)...

There's a bio pic coming out. About Coco Chanel, not Karl Lagerfeld (the current art director for the House of Chanel). And Audrey Tatou is starring, which I love, as she's gorgeous, French (as opposed to an American butchering an accent) and actually resembles the icon.

Head on over to MovieZen for more.

Here's my favorite vintage Chanel look in recent memory. Because it's very Audrey. Hepburn, not Tatou. I would chop off my hair if I had that face too. And/or if I were paid millions to do so. Or thousands. Or hundreds. Or dozens.

It's raining. Again. I'm in sweats. And I'm comfortably a fashionista in my own mind while typing this in old pink slippers that need replacing.

Best Sandals Ever

I wore new sandals today. I am in love. I even pegged my jeans to evoke a little Katie Holmes vibe. Sans crazy Cruise. Because cool sandals make me aspire to hipness.

Footwear-shopping is generally a frustrating experience for me, as my arches would better suit a ballerina than a blogger. I prefer to just admire from a safe distance. But last weekend, I broke my personal-best footwear record. I bought two pairs of sandals. Quickly and effortlessly.

So far, so good. Scratch that. So far, so fabulous.

If I were a real celebrity (and not just one in my head), I would pursue the endorsement deal for these.


You can buy them here. But I got a crazy good deal. 'Cause I'm a super-shopper now.

Julianne Moore's "Sweeping" Blindness

Last summer, Julianne Moore rented a house in Kitchener. Not quite Manhattan, but it made do as temporary digs while she filmed Blindness, the upcoming Canadian thriller about contagious blindness.

And in her off time, she dragged her kids and husband around Mennonite country. With platinum-blond hair instead of her trademark red, she was rather anonymous as she browsed through St. Jacobs' quilt stores. (Honestly, even if she were in a ball gown, no one would really be expecting an Oscar-nominated actress to be waiting in line next to them for ice cream; her privacy was pretty much guaranteed.)

One fine day, she went broom-shopping. At this rustic little store:

My brother Nathan worked in that shop. My brother who is not Mennonite, nor Amish, despite the frequent inquiries of tourists. And he sold her a broom. So as you watch her latest flick, be very aware that when she went home after a long day of filming, she swept off her front porch with a little piece of Bells greatness.

Computer Desks Are the New Gym Memberships

I spend a lot of time at my computer. To be more accurate, I spend a lot of time at computers. Plural. And as I look at more freelancing opportunities and writing gigs, I need to find a way to stay sharp. And maybe find a way to not die of atrophy.

I have found a solution. One that will keep me active, fit and stimulated. And I won't have to step away from my beloved computer either.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Walkstation.

Too bad my apartment is approximately the size of three shoeboxes. And my budget doesn't quite accommodate such a purchase ($4000?!). But I could probably pick up an ancient treadmill at a garage sale somewhere and balance a plank across it....

Check out Treadmill Desk and read about someone who made their own. It changed his life. Which depresses me. What has my desk done for me lately?

(The claim that I could lose 57 pounds in a year is a little alarming. I would die.)

Will Blog for Shoes

More posts from your favorite blogger are up over at ShoeMinx. I feel like a late bloomer in this whole shoe-obsession thing. But I'm certainly getting the hang of it. And I'm starting to wonder if my InStyle subscription can now be considered a tax write-off.

See that red sole? I believe I should add "wear Louboutins" on my Bucket List. Not buy. Just wear. So if anyone's up for a fancy trying-on-shoes-without-buying excursion, let me know.

Anne Hathaway is still gorgeous
Heidi Klum is "auf" to the Runway
Leighton Meester: Shoes to gossip about
It's Miller Time
Vanessa Hudgens is not wearing sneakers

Most of these can also be found at The Daily Pump.

Happy Saturday!

Pink Snow

I got caught in a painful bluster of snow on my way home today. I couldn't see where I was going. My face ached. I thought I turned down my street. I did not. I was still three streets away.

I'm safe inside now. And dry. And fed. My first-ever eBay bid was successful and a digital camera is on its way. I think this thing called "online shopping" might take off :)

I'm in a February frame of mind. Which means I'm partially frozen, dreaming of hibernation, and slightly craving pink things.

Ridiculous pink idea of the day: I should buy Betsey Johnson's place in New York (Can't be that hard to secure a $3.6 million loan). I may be at the only time and place in my life where I can justify über-girlie decorating. Because there's a semi-decent chance that I won't live alone forever (Please, God. Hint, hint). And I wretch at the idea of feminine, floral master bedrooms. If a guy lives there, it should look like it (and not just evidenced by his dirty socks on the floor).

Check out the pinkness:


I bet I could write a pretty great chick-lit novel in that place. Curled up on my sofa in monogrammed velour lounge wear, I'd be scribbling down witticisms and typing the winter blues away. And I would host legendary Valentine's Day bashes. I would probably buy a kitten and name it Meg Ryan. No, I'd buy two: Harry and Sally. And I'd start getting weekly manicures. I might even wear heels on the subway.

P.S. For those new to the world of Nadine, don't worry. Or vomit. I'm more of a farmhouse girl. Or country cottage. I don't do pink carpet. With or without a man, I'd probably spend my $3 million elsewhere.

P.P.S. Heels + public transit = premature death.