Happy Monday y’all!
It’s Día de la Revolución (observed) here in Mexico, and I am fixin’ to beat a hasty retreat back stateside for a limited five week engagement wherein I’ve got to pack all my worldly belongings, sell the Cadillac (insert sad trombone here, but low Caddy + potholes the size of a Benelux nation = heartache) and relocate to Villa Plumcake full time.
I know you all are waiting with bated breath to find out what happened with Hot Latin Boy’s mama.
Well, first of all, I wore heels. A pair of cerulean Dusicas not entirely dissimilar to these:
Then I was incredibly inspired by a picture of autumn leaves (what, you think it’s all archival Dior? Wrong!) and decided to build my outfit from there.
I plucked out a Spense Woman sheath dress with some origami detail at the neck in a spectacular tomato red, a bit like this one from Avenue:
(sans the terrible shooties and busted fishnets, of course)
Then I added a leaf green shawl to cover up the odious cap sleeves and show Mama I was a respectful girl who wasn’t about to bare arms at our first meeting. I picked mine up from my favorite Oaxacan weaver’s stall (next to the revolutionist coffee shop) but it’s not too different from this, in case you don’t have a Zapotec family handy.
I tied it loosely behind my back to create a sort of soft shrug.
This is admittedly a little tricky because either you (by which I mean “me”) tie it too tight and then you look amazing but have the range of motion of an extremely chic tyrannosaurus rex or it’s too loose and it just flops all over the damn place doing no good for anyone.
Of course I had to bring the Birkin so I tied my lucky orange and red Hermes scarf tied as a sash around my waist for definition and to incorporate the orange of the Birkin into the whole look of the outfit.
I love the right orange and red together and I wonder why people don’t do it more often.
It’s infinitely easier to do than red and pink and looks so much fresher than *yawn* red and black, plus it’s a good gateway color to using red and green together without looking like you’re getting ready to deck the halls.
And as for mama…I’m pretty sure she loved me. She started to cry –not for the first time that day, apparently– and in a remarkable feat of self-control waited easily a minute to a minute and a half to ask me for grandchildren.
Do I regret wearing heels?
Not at all.
I joked with her about how I met her son, and how when I first set eyes on him I felt like I kept growing and growing taller and taller –he is Not Tall– and was afraid he wouldn’t like me because I was this enormous anglo giantess. She laughed, put her hand on her heart and said it doesn’t matter how tall I am, it’s the size of my heart and there are no heels in the world that could change the size of that.
Awww. If she only knew.