I know maximalism is having a moment. And while parrots, vintage curtains, and real live fashion bloggers everywhere are surely celebrating this moment in fashion history, you know who’s not? Scandinavian furniture retailers, that’s who. Also, me.
It’s not so much that I “hate prints” as I “hate looking like a human tablecloth”. I can fully get behind a full-length floral trench coat atop a striped skirt and polka-dotted crew neck when it is making its way down a runway or artfully styled for a beautiful editorial—but for daily life, the idea of wearing so many statement pieces at once stresses me out. Where is your eye supposed to go?
I believe the kinder term for my way of sartorial thinking would be “minimalist”. The more realistic way of putting that is “boring”, which I am personally not offended by. Let’s face it, it’s the truth. I can admire Gucci from afar for the art that it is but would rather surrender my future firstborn than throw out my favourite black turtleneck. Once, I wore the same white button down three days in one week. I also have three variations of the same black heeled ankle bootie. SUE ME.
I realise that confessing this makes me potentially the worst pseudo-fashion blogger in existence. Don’t worry, I’ll make up for it; I’m plotting a sugarbear hair #spon post soon!!!!!
Here we have me in a variation on my real-life everyday uniform. A turtleneck (spicing things up and opting for brown instead of black!), jeans (of the trendy cropped flare species; does this make me more interesting?), and ankle boots (tbh these are filler shoes until I track down the cognac bootie of my dreams) (also, dibs on trademarking “cognac bootie” for the name of my debut country EP).
I added a hair bow because I found it in my bathroom whilst doing my makeup and figured it deserved a field trip. Upon reflection, I understand that this was not the wisest move in my quest to cultivate the persona of a cool New Yorker, so I quickly remedied the situation by downing a few black coffees and chainsmoking a pack of cigs on a Soho street corner.
(Just kidding mom.)