Sh*t Fashion Girls Say Part Two

The first Shit Fashion Girls Say was oookkkkkayyyyy.

This one, however is amazing.

I have said all of these things at least once.

“When did Butter become so bridge and tunnel?”

“She’s deffff a maxiniiisssttaaa”

“What? Jessica Simpson actually makes some decent shoes!”

“It was a lot of look, but you can pull it off”

“That place is soooooo 2003.”

“It was like visual Kolonapin, snoreeeee.”

“I’m not eating until fashion week.”

“She is my thinspiration”

“I’m obsesssssed with you”

“You should split this with me!”

“I’ve been really good lately”

Also, great point about Karl Lagerfeld and Daphne Guiness secretly being the same person, I can’t imagine that they are not.

xoxo,

wcw

I am slightly influenced by the media

People closest to me know my constant need to emulate whatever it is I am hooked on at the moment, wether it be a tv show, a family, a celebrity– I’ve even purchased black solo cups after watching Snooki drink out of them on the Jersey Shore, so I thought hey, let’s swallow my pride and make an exhibit of my clear influence through the years so you can have a better Monday, so you are welcome for that.

1. Olsens.

Duh, I’ve been obsessed with these two since the late 90′s and I can’t even attempt to hide that, but while going back down memory lane, the obvious influence is almost embarrassing. It would be more embarrassing if I didn’t look totally fetch.

I remember the year facebook came out with the “tag pics” feature and that summer I  gave up my happiness in order to look chic c’est le vie like an Olsen in every damn pic so I never smiled.

Like this beaut.

2.  Next influence?

The god damn Kardashians.

These ladies flipped me upside down and my  chic homeless blonde Olsen/Nicole Richie Cali, hippie attitude flew out the window.  This might also be influenced by the fact that I moved back to Philly.

Yes, that, my friends, is a GOLD LAME JACKET and black extensions.  At the time I was also working at a liquor store and wore outfits like this on the reg and was also writing obituaries for the local bi-weekly Philly burb newspaper.

And yes, those are hoop earrings.

This is what Kim looked like back then.

Yeah, I know, we were pretty much twinsies.

This is when I was dressed up as Khloe Kardashadeer for my 25th birthday where I ended up on stage at the electric factory during running of the santas dressed up as a kardashian deer, then snow mobile riding down broad with a couple of Eagles players and what could only be described as a Puerto Rican gang of some sorts and then ending the night with a impromptu dance party at the Public House.

3.  Then, just a few short years laters, I met, Snooki.

And was immediately obsessed.

and now this weekend, after watching four episodes of Bear Grylls.

I think I am him.

Also, kids, do not underestimate makeup, fake tan, extensions and fake lashes because they are all one hell of a drug.

xoxo,

wcw

How you know when you’re a true New Yorker

You walk to the elevator at work after arriving 10 minutes late and you have two minutes before your first meeting.  Once you are in the elevator, you quickly reach for the door close button, blocking out anyone that could perhaps make you even more late.

Unfortunately, someone from the floor below you beats you to your failed attempt at promptitude and struts onto the elevator, you give them a no teeth smile/smirk and look at your blackberry.  She then proceeds to hold the door for the person behind her, who hits the button for two floors below first offender.

You have gone from a 15 second ride to a 45 and you are outrageously annoyed.

The elevator stops at two, second offender gets off and two more patrons get on carrying catered breakfast and lidless coffees, pressing the buttons for the floor directly above them.  In New York, no one takes the stairs.  You look at your watch, 30 seconds until your meeting.

You notice the one girl in the Tory Burch flats that just got on has a croissant that you just know is from this bakery on 18th between 5th and 6th.  Immediately crave that god damn croissant and are mad at her for ruing your breakfast of oatmeal.  How can you have oatmeal when there are City Bakery Croissants in the building?   Tory Burch says “ughhhhh I sooooo don’t wanna be hereeeeee” to her friend as she nods and they get off while one more guy in thick black frames, k swiss (you wonder if this is him trying to be ironic) and a blazer gets on, he then presses the floor above him. GOD-DAMMIT!!

You look at your watch, a minute late to your meeting already, tap your foot and then sweep your head up to look at the ceiling of the elevator and let out a dramatic sigh, wonder how much longer your hair looks when you lean back like this, look in the mirrored side of the elevator, a lot.  Sweet.

The elevator stops and the two people in the elevator left get off, but not before holding the door for the girl running from what looks like half a mile a way to catch it.

“Thanks!” She squawks breathlessly to them as you stare down at your feet.  She presses the floor above you and looks at you still in your coat and gloves.

“It’s soooo cold out, huh?”

“Yup,” you say as the elevator stops at your floor and you walk off, taking your ipod buds out of your ear and quickly head towards your desk, taking your coat off as you walk, to drop off your stuff before your meeting that you are now three minutes late to.

You get a croissant from City Bakery for lunch.

xoxo,

wcw

Why I don’t give a sh*t about the Giants

I am reluctant to post this on a Sunday considering most genration y’ers hate reading on the Sabbath, they are too busy eating carbs and watching marathons on TLC, but it has to be said, so I’m going to say it.

Ok, so, the Giants are in the playoffs, and people keep saying to me things like “aren’t you excited to be a part of a city that has the chance to go to a super bowl?”  ”Wouldn’t it be so cool to be there if they won?” and the answer is no and no.

New York is filled with a few things besides sushi restaurants and theaters, one of them being immigrants.  This means, this city is not 100 percent obsessed with one team, not only because New York is split between two teams itself, the Giants and the Jets, but also because New York is also split between an entire nation of sports fans that came here to try to make it.

I know of at least four different Philly bars in this city that have the game raging every Sunday– and for every other team out there, there is a bar for you as well so that just goes to show that not everyone here is into just one team.

Also, for every person in New York that does love the Giants, there are about 1,000 people that would rather be writing poetry or eating trash, which doesn’t really bode well in terms of an energetic sports town.

What I am trying to get at here, peepz, is that, wether the Giants win or lose, really has no baring on my fun levels or personal gain, and foremost, I am a Philadelphia fan, so rooting for the Giants, unless they are in some position to somehow advance the Eagles into the playoffs, is just never going to happen for me and secondly, if I’m not going to see a couch lit on fire and people running through the streets naked and excited, who really cares?

If we were in a boastful, prideful sports city, where the majority of the civilians were so committed to one team that the whole city would be visibly down if the team lost and visibly euhporic if the team won, I would 100 percent be all about that team.

If let’s say, the Steelers were in the Super Bowl and I were still living in Pittsburgh, I wouldn’t necessarily being wearing black and gold, but you can bet 1,000 toddlers in tiaras that I would be cheering on dem Stillers, not for the fact that I love the team in any way shape or form, or really even have much love for it’s fans, but because I know the outcome would benefit me in some way.

If the Steelers won the Super Bowl, you could come to work late the next day, blame depression if they lost, blame not being able to find your car if they won and everyone would completely understand.  If the Giants are in the Super Bowl, there are enough people that matter in my company that a.) don’t give a shit about sports in general b,) could care less about the Giants c.) were still at work the next day at 8 AM even though they flew in from being at the Super Bowl the night before and eating breakfast with Manning himself before the flight, that I would still have to come in on time.

In a small city, there is a common sense of pride regarding your team.  You can go to the super market and you will see everyone wearing the same jerseys and sweatshirts and the buzz of small talk predicting scores and outcomes sounds like a layer of crickets throughout the store.

In New York, you don’t get that. In fact, I just ventured out to the store, and didn’t see a single Giants anything. Not a hat, not a single jacket, and I am living in a town that could potentially make it to the Super Bowl.  So how can I be expected to support something I hate that even it’s own town isn’t supporting?  Simple answer, I can’t.

To be fair, I do live in hipster douche central and I don’t think these people care about anything but if their pinterest or fedora look dope, but still, I would have been expected  to see at least one sweatshirt.

I was in Pittsburgh in 2006 when they won the Super Bowl, and I will tell you first hand, there is nothing like being in a small city that has just won.

The things I have seen will never be able to be burned out of my memory, for the good or bad and I really do hope that girl finally got her beads, but the point is, if the Giants win, whatevs, I could care less, but if they lose, same diff,  it’s not like I would have gotten anything exciting out of cheering for a win anyway.

And after all, this is New York, right? If you can’t get something out of doing it, it sure is hell ain’t worth doing.

xoxo,

wcw

buy whatever you want at a gas station rich

From the time that I started going on mini road trips with my friends, the first being senior week after high school which still might have been one of the greatest weeks of my life to this day, I have always loved buying crap at gas stations.

When I get on the road, ohhhhh-ooooohhhhhh sometimes I get a good feeling yeah, like I just can.not. stand to have any of this saved up money for an hour longer, it’s excess really, by this time of the month I am usually eating rice and a dark chocolate candy bar for dinner, and I just get so damn excited to be out on the trip with the people that I love that I  just Lloyd Christmas it up and end up blowing as much money as possible at the first chance I get buying the following: a sweet and salty snack, one with protein to sustain me for the next 45 minutes, 3 different types of diet drinks, water, seltzer water, some sort of hat or trinket, gum, mints, iced green tea, iced coffee, red bull, candy, a trash mag and a cosmo and we will probably at the destination in 45 minutes

Why is there something so outrageously liberating about spending those first few bucks on stuff you don’t need that gives you a high?  I mean, why does this beer koozie from a gas station in Poughkeepsie and the new bag of skittles in Linden, NJ make me so happy?

The last time I went on a road trip with my brother, I ended up getting a hankerchief someplace in upstate NY, and we decided to get at least 2 different types energy drinks at every stop.  This is what I looked like at hour 4, you should have seen me at hour 9.

wait, I found it.

Here is another picture of me with some of my favorite vacations purchases, two alligator hand back skratchers and a penis lighter I bought at a gas station in the Florida Keys with my girl Chelsea.

So the thing is, I love buying crap on vacations, it’s a time when I’m like you know what? Eff the budget, I want those aviators and the magnet, so I’m going to get them.  I’m not going to sit at the register and really think for 20 minutes if I want the inTouch or the People, I’m going to get them both, and there are those new coconut m&m’s I wanted to try, so I’m going to try them out as well.  Hell, I will even get the sports bottle squirter top of water and a regular because I’m on vacation, I saved for this moment and I can.

So when I saw this picture of Lohan, way back– about three years ago, when she was still with Ronson, walking out of a gas station with two cartons of ciggs, a coke and some Doritos, I was jealous for a few reasons and it has been burned in my memory ever since.

First, she never drinks diet drinks ever, and still remains so thin. I guess when you are on two different types of coke, they balance each other out.

Two, the most I have ever spent on a gas station road trip spree, which I live for, has probably been $40 and that included a tank of gas, and although I don’t even smoke, I was jealous of the fact that she could just walk into a gas station and not think to buy not one $80 carton of cigs but 2, leaving to her tab being around $170 with chips and soda and that doesn’t include gas!

And then it dawned on me, I want to be buy whatever you want at a gas station rich all the time, not just on vacations, not just on pay days, but all the time.

And this is not to sound frivolous.  I don’t want to spend Lohan’s equivalent $200 on foam cowboy hats and koozies, I just want to go to CVS and not have to chose between face wash and face lotion because of the budget constantly closing in around me and I’m going to make it happen, and so will you.  It may not be today, it certainly will not be tomorrow, but one day, I will be buy whatever you want at a gas station rich Monday-Sunday, 24-7 and when that happens, I will treat you to whatever new candy you would like to try , the Star mag, and  Real Simple. 

xoxo,

wcw

Life in NY is so much better with headphones

When I was in college in Pittsburgh, one of my favorite things in the entire world was after the night was over and we convinced one of our friends who didn’t go out drinking, usually George because she was off making money waitressing, to come over the bridge from Oakland and pick up our drunk asses from the clubs on East Carson.

I swear my heaven is screaming techno at the top of my lungs after 7 vodka sodis and countless blindfold me shots being driven in the back of a camry over the bridges of Pittsburgh with my best friends dressed in all black, wind in your hair and face, being tan, sparkly and free.

This was a parkview girl favorite.

One of my other favorite things to do, when I was feeling like I had to escape those same girls I would still take a bullet for, I used to take my ipod, crank up the techno and head down to the South Side Salvation Army by myself and do a trying on clothes montage like Cher by myself, finding treasures to deconstruct and re-invent.  I bought my first flannel there, a men’s Large Jcrew red one that I belted and wore with tights and a chanel necklace and wore with my big giant fake balanciaga bag.  I wonder where I got the inspiration for that one.

Same goes for New York– when you get a cab to go out, and your driver won’t turn up 103.5 the beat, just put on your headphones and suddenly youre in your own Avicci music video with the windows down and the lights of city.

or Chloe print ad.

Turn up the volume and now you’re in Nylon spread on the L train!

Honestly, when you have on your ipod something happens to you– there’s a hop in your step, you feel compelled to spin- the dark and gloomy days suddenly  feel brighter, like a neon grey backdrop just for you to strut in front of– the clouds feel like they are moving faster, to the beat and you, you’re on top of the world!

You’re ready for anything- to take it on, to live, to be loved.

You’re four inches taller, 10 shades tanner, 10 lbs skinnier, add an extra zero to your bank account and you’re a heck of a lot prettier than you were without these tunes, heck, you even wish you were heels and you may want to even take that flyer you just passed by.

Do it! take that flyer, hunny, then turn up that Tiesto and  throw it on the ground because you can!

TGIF!

xoxo,

wcw

Sweatpants, you’ve given up

My mother once to me, “Once you wear sweatpants out of your house, you have given up.”

And I have always tried to abide by this rule.  In fact, just incase I am tempted to wear them, I don’t even own a single pair.

And the ones in question today are not made by Juicy that have pockets to accentuate your butt placement, I’m talking about straight up grey, navy drawstring jawns you rolled four times and let them hang low, over your soffees in high school.

In this world full of entire luxury sweat lines, jeggings, leggings and even yoga pants– why would you ever let yourself fall into wearing grey sweat pants outside of your house?  Really, how long does it really take for you to change from sweatpants to jeans?

Unless you are on a high school soccer team or walking to the gym in the winter, sweatpants outside the house just is unacceptable, and I will not stand for it anymore.

The thing that kills me the most, is when you see people in sweatpants out to breakfast who look they have done their makeup.

You have time to put on makeup, but you can’t be bothered to change into a pair of jeggings?  Where are your priorities? Is that level of comfort really that imperative? And if so, maybe you should swap those waffles for a yogurt with flax seed.

What you do in your own house is your own damn business, but I am done with people looking like this at Acme.

Oh and don’t even get me started on people wearing sweatpants on planes honey booboo child–being at the airport is one of the only times a year where you have the full chance to look like you make over $37K a year.

So enough is enough, sweetie, you wonder why American’s are described as lazy?  I ever saw a single girl when I lived in Dublin wearing a pair of sweatpants anywhere at anytime outside of her house.  They at least have the decency to put on a pair of jeans before they drink 10 pints of magners and a plate of curry fries.

It’s just the decent thing to do for yourself and mankind.

Now go put on some lipgloss, sit up straight and look alive, it’s Friday for Christ sake.

xoxo,

wcw

dinner with some frannnsss and a revisit to an old post

So I met two friends of mine for dinner last night who happen to be both hysterical, and both just fall under the category of “just getting it” and they reminded me of this little gem I wrote last year about a girl who was the walking, breathing, living Freshman 15 over some rushed Korean BBQ and perhaps a baily’s over ice and maybe a chocolatetini.

Yesterday when I was walking to meet my friends for brunch in the West Village, my normal fast paced walking was brutally interrupted by the girl wobbling like she was in her own game of frogger in front of me.  It was like every time I tried to pass her, I was cut off on purpose and I was getting outrageously annoyed.  Her blonde pony tail was bobbing and her Uggs were salt stained.  Considering she was in a purple hoodie, I know this girl was an NYU student without even looking at the screen print on the front of her sweatshirt.  Another clue that she was a student was the fact that she was in leggings and Uggs, and wasn’t carrying any type of bag (ergo, wasn’t on her way back from the gym, because she wasn’t carrying sneakers in a Longchamp) and only was twirling a Coach credit card holder/ king ring in her left wrist while holding something white.  What also was alarming was the fact that she actually took every flyer being passed out for various delis and cafes on her route.  She obviously wasn’t jaded yet, most certainly a Freshman who had only lived in the city for a semester.

I had to walk behind this girl zig zagging for about 2 blocks when I finally was able to pass her and looked at what she was doing that kept her so preoccupied from walking in a straight line like a normal person. I literally let out a gasp when I saw that what was preventing her from acting human was the brown bag full of fried chicken fingers she was ferociously dipping into her left hand and shoving into her face.  What was she dipping it in, you ask? A to- go tub of mayo.

I think there is a girl code out there– we all fell onto the awful Freshman 15 path and I was actually tempted to say be careful, you won’t always have that high school bod, I was once like you too, as care free as I would tell a girl walking out of the bathroom at The Lion that she had toilet paper attached to her shoe.

I’ve seen the shirts boys wore in the Union: Freshman, Get them while their skinny! and it’s no joke.  That girl was on a one way train to leggings and tunics city, population girls 18-22 and I really only can pray that she understands this is New York, and we only eat chicken fingers dipped in mayo by ourselves in our bedroom in the dark while our roomates are out getting their nails done.  Not down 5th Ave.

xoxo,

wcw

Christina Aguilera, a commentary

I have to break my rule to never comment on someone’s weight with this picture, because unfortunately, there is just so much that can be said about this picture below and I just can’t hold my tongue.

Some  thing things you could say about this picture.

1. The costume designers from Friends have decided to resurrect the fat monica suit and try it out to see if it still works.  …and by works I mean, it makes you look like you have a fat suit putty face on top of your real one and it does.

2. It may or may not just be a chubby man from Philadelphia’s childhood dream to some day perform in a drag cabaret show.  His current role is Adele.

3. The Lohan Effect is in full swing.  That is when your hair is bleached out to the point where your spray tan dye starts permenately coloring the hair around your face to the approximate color of cheetos.

4.  Of course, the best way to make yourself look less fat and bloated is to cover yourself in the shiniest, sparkly make up that accentuates all the plumpness in your face to a new level of round.

5.  What goes best with a newly chubby face?  A funky graphic tee with a velvet skull on it and matching fake fur cropped coat from Torrid, obvs!

xoxo,

wcw