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Sunday Cruisin'
A few Sundays ago, I had the distinct pleasure of cruisin' around in a stunner of a droptop (a '74 MGB to be precise) with one Aaron Conway, a good friend of mine who also happens to be an phenomenally talented photographer. I borrowed a few beautiful pieces from Hi-Bred and we made our way snappin' pics around Devou Park and the Kentucky riverfront 'til the light faded behind the treeline.
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Team B&J Forever
A few weeks ago, two of the greatest people I know got married. Despite torrential rain, it was one of the most beautiful, magical, romantic celebrations I've ever taken part in. Becks & Jer, thanks so much for including me in your dream; I love your love, and I love you both to pieces.
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The Dream of the '90s
Somewhere among the lingering tray of tequila shots and perfectly-timed song transitions that ebbed and flowed with the lilt of our conversations, I found myself in what can only be described as a scene from a '90s teen rom-com.
I felt young (-er) and very alive among 20-or-so strangers who were all probably older than they looked or acted, and a best friend whose beauty I am only occasionally jealous of. We made friends easily and had conversations of which the contents were insignificant, but the words themselves weighty, as if a screenwriter had scripted the right things to say at each turn. At one point, a gay man open-mouth kissed me--I deemed this confusing, yet appropriate.
Then there was last weekend: chain-smoking clove cigarettes cigars on the balcony with bourbon whiskey--neat--and the only Miles Davis song I ever really knew that well filling out the spaces between flirtations, or those moments when you're still just scratching the surface of a person who could potentially be your undoing.
All of this to say that I could've just as easily been Jennifer Love Hewitt or Drew Barrymore in their most memorable scenes, meandering through a crowded party with an incandescent glow, or else waiting nervously for affection in the way you do when you're 16 and the opposite sex is still a mystery.
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The Story: Chapter 1, Catharsis
Like my momma always tells me, "This, too, shall pass." The following, written back in March, is proof of that.
Written on 3/31/13
“I’ll never, ever leave you.” Those lies left his lips more times than I’d dare count. Yet he left—even more quickly than he'd entered my life—and in his messy flight he created a vacuum. See, it wasn’t so much the financial debt I’d accumulated due to his unwillingness to work a 9-5, and it wasn’t even necessarily a result of the searing pain in my chest from hearing, “I don’t love you like I used to,” repeated with such cold, matter-of-fact finality. My heart’s been broken before, empty promises have been given and received, but his was an unprecedented level of callousness as he had the nerve to reassure me after it was all over, “You’ll be just fine."
If I would just be honest with myself, I’d see he was making the right decision for both of us.
And here’s the kicker: he was right. There is pain and there is anger and there are those deep stirrings of nostalgia which—when left to their own devices—produce the most guttural sounds I’ve ever made. Yet, in the midst of that, there is clarity and an overwhelming sense that someday I’ll look back on all this and say to myself, “Betsy, you are one tough cookie.”
But the sadness still remains, and it stays because I know with certainty if he tried to return, I couldn’t take him back—not because I’m suddenly so strong, but because I know he will never change. And that is the stubborn, disappointing truth in all of this.
He used to drop me off and pick me up from work every single day (granted, in my car). Though he was the source of much of my stress, seeing him at the end of the day was a joy and a relief—my partner, the man I love, is here to rescue me once again (how ironic that seems now). He used to make me breakfast in the morning (instant oatmeal in a mug because we were always running late), and occasionally he’d even pack my lunches (meager things that left me feeling like he was dropping some sort of subliminal hint). He would make dinner after we’d go to the gym, and he usually wouldn’t let me help. Sometimes, he’d write a sweet note on a post-it and leave it for me to find. I saved every last one of them.
Then there were those conversations when I’d share something about myself, perhaps some inconsequential thing but still a thing that meant something, and he would show no signs of intrigue. Often, he wouldn’t even attempt a response to my vulnerability. He sure loved adventure, but he was far less interested in exploring the shades and complex subtleties of me. Meanwhile, I clung to his every word like he was the last great living evangelist.
Beyond the major red flags I chose to ignore, there were these little moments that should’ve pointed to something bigger; they should’ve trumped the small comfort of seeing his face in my car at the end of a very long 8-hour workday. They should’ve told me that he isn’t all wrong, but he isn’t at all right for me. But like he'd always told me, I wasn't listening, and now I have a story to tell.
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Real Talk, Pt. 1 of God-Knows-How-Many
“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”
― Rumi
The last year-or-so of my life has maintained its fair share of heartache; in one sense, I'm thankful for these rough patches and the way they've served as an impetus to my personal growth, but in another, currently overwhelming sense, I'm feeling incredibly sorry for myself.
Isn't it funny how we all go through basically similar life experiences, yet even so, the bad ones always seem to catch us off guard with how unjust they feel? And although we might be able to rationalize the cause of these seemingly random events and foresee their potential long-term benefits, it doesn't ease the pain--the pain of loss, of rejection, of self-doubt.
If life in my 20s has taught me anything, it's that I don't know much about much, because every time I think I've got a grip on the world, something happens to bring me back to my humble, scabby knees. But there's redemption in that posture, because it's where I become better--where I face myself in all my brokenness and trust that even at my lowest, I am inherently valuable. And so is everyone else, so are you.
I guess herein lies a giant opportunity: I can either choose to wallow in my own self-pity--which admittedly comes pretty natural for me--or I can put on my brave face and let the light enter in. I can forgive myself, I can forgive others, and I can choose to have joy, even when things aren't easy.
So instead of trying to cover up my wounds with a guy or my job or new clothes, I'm going to give them some air to breathe, some space for light to shed itself. I'm going to take time to learn from my past, and I am going to heal.
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On My Conversion to Sneaker Head-dom
I like shoes. A whole lot. Particularly those of the high-heeled variety, but lately I've been dabbling in sneakers. Maybe it's the fact that I almost exclusively listen to rap nowadays (and rappers wear sneakers...?), or maybe, just maybe, I'm becoming a bit more practical in my sartorial decision making. Regardless, sneaks have the magical ability to dress down an outfit while simultaneously upping its cool-factor by, I dunno, like infinity?
Take the look on the left, for example. Now, I know some of you are grimacing at the mere thought of wearing sneakers with an intricately-beaded midi skirt, but I promise you this works. The trick is to keep the rest of the outfit ultra casual and minimal, ergo a knotted tee that shows just a little skin and a backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, with maybe some sort of badass cuff and nothing else. And can we talk about the basketweave on that Nike Blazer? So good. So, so good.
Not convinced?
Let's check out look #2, which is a mix of sporty and uptown-chic. The new Nike Flyknit is I guess the souped-up sister of the Free Run, and I can't deny I've been ogling them for a hot minute. I'd pair these badboys with some androgynous trousers, coordinating neutral sweater and a bright, structured bag. Throw in some sort of quirky, sculptural piece of jewelry and you've got just about the perfect outfit, folks.
Still confused?
A classic pair of Chuck Taylors never goes out of style, and I've always thought the all-black hi-top version is the BAMF-iest of them all. Vintage denim cutoffs are an easy go-to, but in order to avoid looking too ratchet (is there even such a thing?), I'd top this ensemble with a billowy, bohemian blouse and some sort of ethnic/tribal statement necklace (is anybody following me?). To pull it all together, slap a faux leather baseball cap on your noggin and go to that A.S.A.P. Rocky show, you fashion killer, you!
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2013 Bunbury Street Style: Part Deux
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2013 Bunbury Street Style: Part 1
Thank the dear Lord for the good people who brought Bunbury to Cincinnati for the second year. Beyond providing fantastic performances by prolific bands like Yo la Tengo and Cake, the festival provides an endless wealth of people watching. Just like last year, I posted up paparazzi-style* to capture some of the more interesting looks.
Many thanks to Micah Paldino and Landor Unleash for sponsoring me and this amazing Cincinnati treasure of an event!
*I make no claims to be a professional photographer; these photos are almost 100% unedited. I am merely an observer/semi-pro people watcher. :)
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Four Fashion Rules Ain't Nobody Got Time For
When I was younger, I loved watching "What Not to Wear" with my momma. For me, Stacy & Clinton were quasi-messianic, bringing fashion truths to the unabashedly ignorant masses. Inspired by their bluntness and Ms. Sweet Brown's timely life philosophy, I've taken a few of their rules and expanded upon them.
1. "No white after Labor Day."
One time in 7th grade I wore these great white jeans I had bought from the Gap outlet, but due to my pre-Memorial Day/post-Labor Day timing, I caught a lot of flack. Nevermind that they fit perfectly and looked downright fantastic--the mere fact I was wearing white was somehow inherently incorrect. Well I've got news for you, 7th grade classmates: ain't.nobody.got.time.for.THAT.
White works year-round, whether in the form of a gorgeous winter-white fur, as a lacy dress for spring, or set against oxblood and camel boots for an ultra-cool autumn look. Regardless, I will not let seasonal shifts dictate the colors I wear, ya heard?
2. "Women should dress modestly."
I'll issue this one with a disclaimer and an apology to my dear mother, who performed her fair share of hemline checks throughout my adolescence. I believe parents should keep tabs on what their kids are wearing (daughters and sons), and I will probably be a total stickler should I ever have a little lady of my own. That being said, I think women should wear what they want. Contrary to popular belief, women don't always dress a certain way to attract attention from the opposite sex. Some of us wear what we do because it makes us feel great.
Por ejemplo, lately I've been rocking a wide assortment of crop tops, and I won't lie--belly button has been exposed to varying degrees. There's an unwritten law that crop tops are appropriate as long as the navel isn't showing, but I say to heck with it. If you're comfortable in your own skin and like what you're wearing, go for it. Do you!
3. "Guys who dress well are metro or gay."
First of all, the stereotype that all gay men dress well is utterly false (sorry babes, but you know it's true). Just because a guy knows what he likes and picks pieces that fit his body doesn't mean he's image-obsessed, and certainly has no bearing on his sexual preference (have we not learned this already??).
Women like men who dress well. Ain't nobody got time to style her guy's wardrobe, so fellas, get your act together and stop hating on all the well-dressed dudes.
4. Matching your purse to your shoes in general.
Sometimes I refer to myself as "matching averse". The idea that everything must coordinate is nothing short of passé. Now, that being said, I love an intentionally over-matched outfit, but when the irony is lacking, you just end up looking hokey.
Matching colors is juvenile stuff, folks. Try instead to contrast and complement the pieces of your wardrobe--not just in terms of color, but also texture, pattern and shape. You'll create more interesting outfits and have a heckuva lot more fun.
Do you agree? Which fashion norms would you argue ain't nobody got time for? Let me know in the comments!
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25
I turned 25 on Saturday. Leading up to it, I had no less than a dozen people ask me how I felt about that number, as if a quarter life crisis was nothing less than imminent. On the contrary, I've never felt so self-assured and at peace with my position in life, and that confidence is due in large part to the unwavering support of my family and friends, whose bolstering has been an incredible blessing in my life.
I'm certainly not getting any younger--and who knows, maybe 26 will put the fear of God into me--but 25 might just be my favorite age yet.
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On Vanity, Style Blogger Worship & the Democratization of Fashion
There's been lots of talk 'round the interwebs lately concerning the impact of the style blogger on the fashion industry at large. In her article, "The Circus of Fashion", veteran fashion journalist Suzy Menkes laments the days when mere interest in designer clothes was far more exclusive than today's democratized style culture; she cites brand whoring and attention-seeking outfits worn to runway shows by otherwise no-name "fashionistas" as clear indicators of the industry's demoralization. Leandra Medine (the "Man Repeller") responded to Ms. Menkes' article with an earnest and pointed call for renewed integrity among her blogger counterparts, and the debate rages on.
Each perspective is valid and clearly comes from a place of great passion for their respective arguments, but I sort of wonder if both of them aren't missing the bigger picture.
Living in Kentucky, I remember the days when it took years (read it: years) for we midwestern luddites to catch on to even the most prevalent, accessible trends from NYC. With the rise of the digital age, everyone, everywhere has near-instantaneous access to everything. Enter the Forever 21s and H&Ms of the world, bringing fashion to the masses--albeit with a slew of lawsuits for ripping off countless designers. Cheap prices and pre-packaged looks have created a more "fashionable" Generation Y, but a more stylish one? That's debatable.
Sure, America's been a consumer-driven culture for awhile now, but widespread interest in fashion has only existed for the past decade, at best. With this obsession came a heightened sense of vanity and self consciousness; no wonder Time Magazine deemed us a bunch of narcissists. Furthermore, originality has all but gone out the window as trends are so readily available, and top bloggers tend to rep the same brands at the same time, making for a disingenuous and homogeneous style culture.
So it's not difficult to see where fashion bloggers (including myself) fit into the "me, me, me" culture. We post ridiculous photos of ourselves in various outfits without explanation as to why what we're wearing is noteworthy, and some of us even sport t-shirts that cost more than the average American family's monthly grocery budget.
Is this wrong?
Who's to say?
But I think we could all (you too, Ms. Menkes) stand to step away from the glaring self righteousness that currently exists in the fashion world and admit that it's all just a little bit silly. Who cares if the masses have access to new trends? Shouldn't that make the truly "fashionable" and/or "stylish" that much more creative? Shouldn't it spawn innovation rather than "gotta-have-it-all" copycats? And maybe those handful of girls who are making a ridiculous living from their style blogs could be a little more transparent about it. Maybe they could explain to their (highly impressionable) audience that their lifestyles aren't normal, and that materialism isn't healthy.
In the words of a generation: I'm just sayin'.
[photo courtesy of Jak&Jil]
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Not Your Grandma's Scarves
I don't wear hats. Allow me to clarify: I can't wear hats. My unique combination of large cranium + lion's mane doesn't allow me to fit into those adorable straw fedoras or wide-brimmed black numbers; heck, even beanies look kiiinda ridiculous on my noggin.
Lucky for me, the head scarf offers a forgiving alternative to accessorizing my utmost extremity; scarves are cheap (I believe I purchased both of the ones pictured for around $3 at thrift/vintage stores) and they're just so darn versatile! You can go super retro with a big bow, fashion a turban or quasi hijab, or drape it gently over your head and shoulders for that gipset vibe. As a whole, the look says, "I'm mysterious and cool, but not overly put-together." I can dig it.
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The Way Back
I'd like to begin with an apology for my unannounced hiatus from this small, yet valuable plot of e-soil. My life as of late has consisted of such relentless change, and with that I've emerged a far different woman than I was just months ago, let alone two years prior when this thing was conceived.
I've gone back and forth with thoughts of rebranding Folk & Feather or even walking away completely, but ultimately I'm proud of this little train and the wonderful, beautiful passengers it's collected along the way. I just can't quit you!
Still, F&F can't continue without there being some shift in direction. My passion and focus has long been writing, and at the same time I've always wanted there to be a sense of raw, authentic personality here. So things might get intimate, folks. I might share some of my personal struggles, some thoughts I've had about non-fashion matters. But most importantly, I'm not going to try to define things too much. Let's leave things open-ended, shall we?
The picture at the top of this post is one of just a few I took with my Canon on a trip to DC this spring to visit my older brother, Sam. It may not have been an atypical occurrence, but on the particular day we visited the Capitol, the sky above the National Mall was filled with all sorts of kites. I remember being so captivated by the sight of those happy, lilting shapes that I nearly forgot the blisters forming on my feet from my poor choice of walking shoe. I don't know exactly what it was about that sight, but it injected such a simple joy and hopefulness into my heart that I had to try to capture it.
The day I returned home from that trip, my life was flipped seemingly upside down. I say "seemingly" now because retrospect and clarity from God-only-knows-where have provided me with a new perspective--one that not only allows, but obliges me to be thankful, even in the bad times, because life is so very good, and grace is a real thing.
I'm so excited to continue on this journey and hopefully provide you with glimpses of the beauty that becomes increasingly evident to me each day. Thanks for sticking around.
A special thanks to Meg Fee for writing with such elegant honesty on her blog. Not unlike countless others, you've inspired me to share with the same level of openness and integrity.
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Style Muse: Taylor Tomasi-Hill
Mrs. Tomasi-Hill is one of those women whose beauty supersedes her fashion sense, and that's saying a heck of a lot. Beyond her doll-like features and shock of perfectly red locks, her style embodies a sense of confidence and singularity I've rarely seen. Between rocking mixed-up proportions, a seemingly endless collection of crazy-awesome necklaces and some of the finest footwear around, our Taylor's become the Athena in the pantheon of street style goddesses.
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Four Top Bloggers, Before They Were Big
Style blogging (specifically, personal style blogging) has this really interesting way of not only showcasing an individual's aesthetic successes, but also shedding light on our less-than-stellar pasts. Upon initiating myself into this world of semi-regular outfit posts, I had no concept of how this self-awareness would develop into a near-constant evolution of my fashion preferences. I'll be honest, there are times I'll go back towards the beginning of F&F and think, "Why did I wear that? It's not me at all," or, most frequently, "Why am I making 'model face'?" Nevertheless, there's also some joy in seeing how much I've come into my own and developed my own unique brand of style; I only hope that evolution continues.
That being said, I thought I'd show some photos of top bloggers when they first started out. This isn't to poke fun as it's evident these ladies have always had style, but it's fascinating to see how they've honed their looks over the years.
Aimee Song of Song of Style
The California-cool, designer-darling Aimee of today is a far cry from whence she came. Just a few years ago, Miss Song's wardrobe was borderline average, giving the rest of us hope that we, too, may curate such an awe inspiring wardrobe.
Rumi Neely of fashiontoast
I'm almost certain I'm not alone in my opinion that Rumi has one of the most specific looks out there. I render it apocalypse-chic, or else a quasi-minimalist, largely monochromatic take on fashion that makes us all feel a lot less cool. But I have to say, I feel a heck of a lot better when I look at some of her outfits from '08-'09; I don't think she'd be caught dead in a printed peasant dress nowadays, but Rumi does occasionally surprise us...
Emily Schuman of Cupcakes and Cashmere
Although her style differs from mine quite a bit, I can't stop following this girl. There's nothing really crazy or groundbreaking about her style, but she lacks the "I'm-cooler-than-you" attitude most top bloggers tend to possess. She mostly goes for classics, but also has a sharp eye for lasting trends and unique ways to lend subtle edge to her looks. That being said, I'm pretty sure she'd be pretty embarrassed to see the first two photos of the pre-NYT best- selling-author version of herself. Are you feeling inspired yet, people??
Kelly Framel of The Glamourai
Kelly has maintained a fairly consistent style aesthetic over the years, but I will say her current look has a more quiet, self-assured vibe. For example, she's always been a pro at mixing prints, but her earlier days (see first photo) reveal a more over-the-top approach. Since then, her picks are less contrived and seem better suited to her lifestyle.
#aimee song#rumi neely#kelly framel#emily schuman#song of style#fashiontoast#the glamourai#cupcakes and cashmere#bloggers
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Published!
A couple weeks ago I showed some behind-the-scenes snaps of my photo shoot with Her Magazine, and I'm so happy to finally be able to share the finished product.
The concept and tagline was "cool-girl street style meets authentic urban wear"; by mixing higher-end boutique wares with vintage pieces and beautiful, impactful jewelry & bags from Voguevert, the team and I played heavily on street style pioneers like Jak&Jil. I wanted the images to reflect the current state of fashion, which is, in a phrase, 'anything goes, as long as you've got the confidence to match'.
Thanks to our awesome (and freezing) models and talented photographer, I feel confident we achieved these aims. I'm excited to provide creative direction for future projects, and in the meantime, I'd love to hear your feedback!
Check out more photos from the shoot at Her Cincinnati!
#published#editorial#photo shoot#fashion#Her Cincinnati#Her Magazine#styling#stylist#creative director#street style
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