Sixteen Years Later.... <3

We understand one another here. 

An unspoken bond becomes crystal clear. 

You favor the F line, I’m loyal to the C. 

I sleep in Crown Heights, while you rise in Gramercy. 

You’re textured and colorful. I’m prickly and slight. 

We’re both internalizing a personal, perpetual fight. 

Boundaries don’t define us so easily here. 

Your fear has been my fear. We’re all a little queer. 

New York City is a club with an unbiased membership. 

It’s yours to survive, or give up—quit. 

We’re in this together, if we must tough it out. 

Only the strong will go on—this, I have no doubt. 

The people here, we’ve lived it. We get what it takes. 

We’re sympathetic to our neighbors, for we all need a break.

From Queens to Brooklyn, we began on the same plane. 

We are strangers, but we share more than this train. 

We’ve fought some and lost, believing we’d won. 

The burdens we face daily, they can weigh a ton. 

But we’re still here fighting, like masochists on the run. 

I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough, when I’m so very done. 

You and me, we’re the same, you see. 

Chasing a dream that may never, ever be. 

We’ll pass one another on the street.

But we may never formally meet. 

We don’t need to, for it’s already understood. 

Respect is solidified I’d tell you. Trust me, I would. 

Look for a moment and you’ll see it in my eyes. 

We share a bond here, a knowingness of such a glorious demise. 

But without hesitation, we continue to rise. 

We shall, and we will—continue to thrive. 

New York Pity

New York Pity  ~  one sample of a collection of poems I'm currently working on ~ all by moi 

I’m tired. 

Nearly expired. 

In the thick, heavy trenches I’m stuck. Mired. 

It shows on my face—brows heavily perspired. 

Like an overstuffed cannon begging to be fired. 

Like a job I never accepted, yet somehow hired. 

My life a perpetual quagmire. 

A taste for disdain is so easily acquired. 

The Gods are against me; they’ve all conspired. 

There’s nothing here for the weak—strength is required. 

I’ve only just begun, but already semi-retired.

Oh to live like those I’ve long admired. 

A glitzier, cushier path could have easily transpired. 

The art of the hustle is a gift. It must be within; hardwired.  

New York can’t simply be retrofired. 

She must be worshipped, adored, incessantly inspired. 

How, then, does one make it here, you’ve inquired?

Stick it out or get out. Just don’t forget to suspire. 

Guilt-Free Shopping

I used to be the Queen of Fast-Fashion. H&M, Forever21, Gap, Topshop, Zara discounts. I never met an insanely cheap deal saturated in synthetic threads pretending to be luxe (and let's be honest, doing a pretty damn good job of it) I didn't support. Especially as a near-starving student/creative independent barely making ends meet in the City That Never Sleeps--adamant on hitting rock bottom in style. Slowly, however--a pastime I'd neglected along with my southern roots--I began to mentally take stock of not only the derelict shape of my closet; filled to the brim with cheap tops I'd worn once or not at all, due to ill fit and perpetual pilling, but also these mass retailers I was blindly supporting to appease a buck. One particular moment of enlightenment I'll never forget was the Fall of 2012. On my way to class one chilly Wednesday afternoon, realizing I had time to kill, I popped into a Zara flagship store on 5th Avenue to peruse their stock in outerwear. I'd barely reached the sales rack when I was overwhelmed with confusion and utter disappointment. Had a human tornado beaten me to the sale? Racks upon racks of seemingly lovely coats and jackets were tattered, makeup stained, zipper-less, and scarred; each of which still boasting a $100-200.00 sales tag. My high expectations of scoring super cute, affordable Zara fashions were now on the floor with broken buttons, missing from the clothes I no longer wanted to even try on. The array of evidence before me was telling. Practically every bit of these mass-produced goods weren't meant to last a month out of the store, let alone a sales rack. But of course not. People aren't shopping these attainable fashion chains for quality basics. They're frequenting them because of their ever-changing offerings of trendy items for less money. Clothes meant to wear to a party or the club, or on that hot date. Frocks that are otherwise meant to act as occasional accessories. Not everyday wear and tear. So what if that jacket or vest starts to shed, unravel, or is highly flammable. It costs as much as a New York City martini and it'll only see the light of day during the holidays. No worries there. But what about the real cost of making that little snazzy, affordable garment? The things we can't see hanging in our closets. 

The next time you're up to speed on your Netflix queue and hankering for something new to discover, consider an original documentary, The True Cost. This film exposes the derelict factory conditions in places like Bangladesh, where the majority of fast-fashion is mass-produced within the worst environment conditions for far less than anything near a minimum wage. Where workers get screamed at and nearly beaten if they're unable to meet quota goals. Forget bathroom breaks or any kind of sick leave. This documentary is important because, inhumane production practices aside, the film also touches on how fast-fashion is killing the planet due to increased toxic smog, massive amounts of waste, and tremendous consumption of water. Fashion is officially the 2nd largest cause of global decline. CEOs of huge retailers like Zara are now billionaires, thanks to rising supply and demand from fashion lovers of the West (us). Meanwhile, these successful billionaires can't afford to pay for far superior production practices in parts of the world where it is laughably cheaper to set up shop. How on earth does that make any sense? It doesn't. And, as a lifer of the fashion industry, I simply cannot support these stores nor their practices any longer. 

What, then, is a fashion lover to do when she can't afford Rag & Bone but has sworn off Topshop? Well, thankfully, I'm not utterly alone in this new mindful mission; my research has led me to believe there's others out there that have the same responsible wants and expectations, without having to sacrifice style and rent-money. Before I list out the best options and brands for guilt-free shopping however, be mindful of a few things first:  Once a self-respecting woman or man hits the mid-thirties mark, a closet full of only Forever21 and H&M is no longer acceptable. Regardless of budget, young professionals should start collecting a solid supply of well-made basics, not the cheap stuff. This means at least one seasonally transitional jacket, a great pair of blue jeans, a little black dress and classic pumps, etc. When you start to get rid of the cheap stuff and replace them with better made items meant to last, the less you have to buy on a regular basis, and the less you're contributing to landfills. Even Beacon's Closet doesn't want your Zara shirt that's pilling on the side your purse usually hangs, and neither does the earth. Also, once you trade those no-name shoes in for a pair with a respectable moniker you'll wonder why you punished your feet with cheap soles for so long. You're investing in yourself when you buy clothes. It's time you started treating your body and overall image better. 

Shopping I can get behind:

LuLu's Made in America:  Super cute, trendy, and affordable. Nothing with a USA stamp on it was made through blood, sweat, urine and tears. Literally, not figuratively that is.. I've ordered from this online retailer countless times and have always been super happy after. Also, go America!  $

ASOS' Green Room:  Supports eco-friendly and sustainable fashion from around the globe, based in London. Cute, trendy.  $ - $$ 

Zappos:  Where I get practically all of my shoes, jeans (Levi's all day everyday, for their made-in-the-USA promise to their stance on equality and politics), and jackets online. This company caters to both big designers and the smaller ones, but only the better of the bunch. Their customer service is killer too, with up to 365 days in free returns and shipping.  $ - $$$

Everlane:  Super attractive basics. Ethically made. Brilliantly priced.  $$ - $$$ 

Nordstrom's Made in the USA:  Both online and in-stores they carry a number of big and small brands that are made locally. Cute, stylish.  $ - $$

American Apparel:  Former CEO being a perv aside, this company primarily produces their goods in the Sunshine State.  $ - $$

Modcloth:  Vintage inspired women's clothing. A ton of it is made locally, or simply repurposed. They only carry responsible brands. Sweet, feminine.  $$

Reformation:  My new favorite brand and practically the perfect fashion label. Everything is made either in LA or strictly sourced from the most responsible vendors, and remade from vintage garments. Every piece is super cute and pretty too. This is the latest brand that all the current fashion bloggers are scrambling to get. Most of the pieces are a little pricey, but compared to local hip brands like Rag & Bone, it's a deal. And, again, it's about collecting garments that are meant to last, and are perfectly made. We're trying to transition away from throw-aways, remember.  $$ - $$$

The Real Real:  This is one of the best online consignment shops out there delivering high-end designer fashion for less than half the cost. Each item lists the condition it's in and returns are easy. For Louboutin and Chanel lovers and those seeking real investment pieces, this is the place. Besides, experts are swearing that an Hermès Birkin bag has a better ROI than fine art these days.  $$ - $$$$

Etsy:  One-of-a-kind, handmade, and vintage fashion here. One of the most straightforward and eclectic curations out there. Great for accessories. Also, one of the kindest e-tailers/companies in giving back, and employee treatment.  $ - $$$

The Outnet:  Net-a-Porter's more affordable little sister. High style and trendy. High designer too. I strictly shop sales here and you can definitely find killer deals. Again, it's about new investment pieces that don't break the bank.  $$ - $$$$

Madewell:  They started as a spin-off to J. Crew, focusing on selvedged denim and solid basics but have branched out to more stylish offerings too. This company, along with J. Crew, is one of the more "mindful" mass retailers out there, instilling more eco-friendly production methods into their merchandise. They're not perfect, but they're at least trying to be better and improving.  $$ - $$$

Schott:  For men and women who want serious outerwear that will last many lifetimes, like the ultimate biker jacket. Decades old and homegrown right here in NYC. Stick to the sales.  $$$ 

The above is primarily all online shopping, which is the most popular method today. But for those who prefer shopping in-person your options are endless there too. I know a number of people that have zero patience for vintage and/or thrifting and honestly, I'm sorry about that. You're missing out on so many opportunities to find killer deals on vintage Halston, Yves Saint Laurent, and Burberry (I found a barely worn original trench for just $55.00 at Beacon's Closet in Williamsburg, for pete's sake..). Not to mention, recycling practically-new clothing is the greatest gift one can bestow on the planet, and almost everything made prior to the 70s was near pristinely crafted. I can't recommend these places enough: 

Beacon's Closet; Buffalo Exchange; Housing Works; What Goes Around; Crossroads Trading Co.; Ina, etc. Also, for the ladies that believe their curves won't fit into vintage finds, you're just plain wrong. The majority of these clothes were built for your amazing bodies. Now, shoes could pose more of a problem, as sizes back then were often narrower. 

Also, for my in-store shoppers, keep in mind that the greater the designer the better the product. Make major sales your greatest monthly event. Stores like Barney's, Bergdorf's, Neiman's, and Saks carry smaller collections from high-end designers, using the best products and practices. You'd be surprised at the serious deals you can find during their end-of-season discounts. Also, as I mentioned above, Nordstrom maintains an entire department devoted to locally focused brands, and Bloomingdale's has a 100% collection, which is a curation of more affordable designers handpicked by their fashion directors for their responsible practices. Specialty boutiques like Scoop, Bird, and Intermix carry the best brands as well, albeit you're also going to get high quality, at high prices. But there's always a sale!!

I selected the most attractive, attainable, and relatable brands and retailers here, leaving out the Free Trade & Ethical brands that are a little more "organic". These labels are the kindest out there by far, sustaining hand-weavers in Ghana and Peru, which makes clothing that's perfect for the most "natural" of dressers. Not all city folk can pull off these styles, however, so I went in search of those smarter fashions that can easily replace the likes of H&M and Zara. By all means, shop these stores if you wish, I truly damn no one that chooses to do so. I just ask that until these brands can encourage a more economically responsible mentality that's also more human--something I'm positive they'll instill eventually--that you at least look to other, kinder offerings occasionally. 

Whatever your shopping stance, remember that you deserve the best, and the resistant shoes to carry you through!

Happy guilt-free shopping - xx RR  

The #MerryMonday Movement

It's just another manic Monday. I wish it was Sunday. That's my fun day; I don't have to run day. The Bangles sang their beginning-of-the-week blues to us in the 80s and we all collectively felt their pain then, just as we still do today. Monday has become the official day of loathing; the poutiest day of the week, just after the "Sunday Scaries". When did it become cool to publicly pity the first day of the work week--has it always been this terrible--and what does it signify about our [particularly American] work culture? 

Get caught complaining about a boss, coworker or assignment online in a public platform and you could [and should] lose your job on the spot. Yet, all over social media, at least in the creative industries, professionals are sharing their personal disdain over Mondays in borrowed quotes, memes, gifs, hashtags and anything else "trend worthy" for mere "likes" and applause. How is one action more or less appropriate than the other? Especially considering the multitude of these creative entities' social media pages' are more than likely being run by a young intern. We're teaching our younger generations today that it's perfectly acceptable--even trendy and encouraged--to hate having to get out of bed and go to work, or take on any responsibility whatsoever. Superiors, coworkers and peers are also fully aware of your #MondayBlues thanks to that attention seeking Instagram post, so yeah, no wonder your work life sucks. You've decried it for any and all to see. 

Of course we all love and wholly prefer weekends. Lazy days left entirely up to us to decide what to do with. And no, like the children we used to be, we don't like giving them up for routines, commitments and any adult responsibility whatsoever. But it's not like we're suiting up and heading to war. Well.., some of us might be; considering the "work" in question and the "army" we must tend to... In reality though, the majority of these Monday-gripers have cushy jobs and are more often happy in their roles than not. They're just banking off the widely shared notion that no one loves being a grownup 24/7, and therefore, isn't this "trend" sorta silly? I mean, if a factory worker in Bangladesh wants to share a tweet about their #SundayScaries or #MondayBlues then I applaud it. Here, so many of us have it better than terrible. Also, when has it ever been truly chic to complain about anything involving our own self-pity. I can't imagine Jackie-O Snapchatting a perfectly polished middle finger aimed at an alarm clark at dawn on a Monday in her day... 

None of this is to negate real work-related angst. Trust me. I know all too well the crushing emotions that are summoned by noon on a Sunday only to implode by midnight at the realization I was to face another week of hell for a measly paycheck once again. I've been imprisoned by jobs that have provoked many sleepless nights, quiet sobs alone in bathroom stalls, hives, ulcers, and pure depression--even PTSD. I've worked for and with people I hope to never cross paths with ever again. It's awful, and I sincerely sympathize with any most unfortunate soul currently enduring any of this. My advice: GTFO. Seriously. No job is worth that amount of terribleness simply to maintain employment, make ends meet, or even in the hopes it leads to the ultimate career goal. Look everywhere for anything else. Or figure out a way to ease the pain that doesn't solely involve copious amounts of tequila. Even still, I truly sympathize, and I salute you for making it this far.  

Now that I'm strictly freelance writing I regularly look forward to Mondays. The first day of each week signifies a chance to network or catch a new assignment. The latter part of the week is when things slow down. Potential employers or clients begin to mentally check out in anticipation for the weekend. I also look forward to Mondays because of the energy in the air that sparks a bit of motivation to get organized, get inspired, and work--just as I, too, anticipate Fridays for the more relaxed vibes the weekend brings. Life is all about balance, isn't it. Too much of a good thing and it's no longer desirable. We work--to play. Mondays will always be a heavy reminder that the temporary fun is over, but if we collectively start to celebrate its significance--a fresh start--then work might just become more enjoyable. Tolerable, at least. That's why I'm starting the #MerryMonday movement. It's an effort to try and change, or even soften, the blow of returning to mundane routines and responsibility. I hope you'll join me. Let's give Mondays a break and start showing them a little love. At least do it for the interns--they haven't quite earned the right to complain just yet (unless they are in fashion and well, I'm so sorry, kids..). And hey, there's always a chance to make #TerribleTuesday a thing.         

Presidential Candidates + Fashion Week

For Autumn/Winter debuts, Fashion Week's Ready-To-Wear collections kick-off in New York just as the month of February settles in and from there it immediately moves to London, followed by Milan, and ends with a bang in Paris one month later. It's nonstop action for top editors, tastemakers, buyers, designers, photographers, stylists and basically anyone A-D list that's worthy of an invite. Esteemed well-known brands come together with the newer, stranger little guys in the hopes of amassing as much praise and press necessary to land on the hottest bodies and in the very best stores. For anyone that follows the industry, social and news feeds are laden with beautiful, weird, controversial, or silly runway styles put forth by one designer after another endlessly, until it's all over. Much like a shorter, better dressed version of the Presidential Campaign Trail. Now that the glitter has settled on the runways in Paris and A/W Fashion Week 2016 has come to a close, I thought I'd have some much needed fun with our current Presidential Candidates and pair them with the latest collections based on their similarities. 

This is all hypothetical of course, so please try not to get your knickers in a twist over the fact that these are primarily women's collections in a male dominated platform. This is all purely in good fun. Ladies and gentlemen take your seats, you're all invited to the front row. No extreme biases here. I give you the Presidential Fashion Week 2016: 

Kate Spade New York (NYFW16)

Secretary Hillary Rodham Clinton:  Kate Spade (NYC) ~ Because the female frontrunner loves herself a good ole cushy corporation and a big brand name from which she shares a platform with her equally successful husband, Jack Spade. Like the brand, The Secretary has remade herself countless times to appease the status quo and the latest trends. She's not super exciting, but has maintained a steady following and solid demand for her strong ladylike aesthetic and classic lines. Lots of pink, plenty of red, and bits of plaid tweed this season perfect for busting balls in the boardroom to schmoozing with billionaires and hosting Junior League brunches.   

The Elder Statesman (NYFW16)

Senator Bernie Sanders:  The Elder Statesman (NYC) ~ Despite the name, this more elusive brand evokes a youthful style built around old world methods. TES is all about quality over quantity; producing a smaller collection made from hand-spun pashmina, knits and pure cotton. For the guy or gal that lives off the land but enjoys a little folk, some old rock n' roll, and even a dash of punk. At first glance the line appears a little messy, a little disheveled, and quite certainly a bit hippie, but try them on and they're surprisingly comfortable. Although you're still not convinced the style is for you, or if you could even pull it off. However, you're supremely impressed with the designer's abilities to create super affordable pieces out of luxe goods while his competition boasts heftier price tags.   

Iceberg (MFW16)

Senator Marco Rubio:  Iceberg (Milan) ~ Because the Senator is not convinced it's America's problem the icecaps are dramatically melting. But also for the younger brand's energetic and playful approach to "get me noticed" styles copied from more experienced design houses that precede him. Iceberg repeats a lot of the same prints throughout the collection, reminiscent of youthful Tetris blocks fighting for space. It's approachable yet not fully relatable. Like, fur pants might seem like a good idea but you'll probably immediately regret wearing them. Perhaps the brand just needs to age a bit more. 

Dolce & Gabbana (MFW16)

Senator Ted Cruz:  Dolce & Gabbana (Milan) ~ Much like designers Stefano and Domenico's latest collection inspired by Disney Princesses, the Senator claims his wife, Heidi, and their two daughters, inspire him daily and are his own "real life princesses". But also because Cruz is highly opinionated with very old school ideals that regularly tend to cause modern day controversy, much like the high priced designers'. From the "Slave Sandal" to tax evasion and denouncing same sex parenting despite their own homosexuality, Dolce & Gabbana finds it difficult to stay out of hot water. However, these guys haven't lost any popularity despite the occasional ickiness endured, and are still in pretty high demand. 

Carven (PFW16)

Retired Neurosurgeon Ben Carson:  Carven (Paris) ~ Because the guy enjoys carving things and was pretty successful (or not?) in doing it. Carson has since suspended his campaign but he earned a space here. Carven put out a trippy, oftentimes odd collection built around sci-fi, adventure, and "good girls", if that makes any sense at all. Then again we're talking politics and fashion, so forget about sensibility for a minute. While some pieces were stranger than others, overall it was a rather quiet and subdued debut with more than one ensemble appropriate for Sunday worship.  

Les Copain (MFW16)

Governor John Kasich:  Les Copains (Milan) ~ Because despite his shortcomings he's seemingly more calm; the "friendlier" guy in the GOP group that mostly stays away from endless attacks. Also, Les Copains is primarily a knitwear collection; loads of sweaters, turtlenecks and outerwear perfect for the chilly Ohio air. Only catch is I'm not 100% convinced the Governor would approve of the underlying progressive sexiness to a multitude of otherwise feminine frocks. 

Yeezy (NYFW16)

Businessman Donald Trump:  Yeezy (NYC) ~ Because it's the perfect storm of overinflated egos, self-obsession and self-promotion. For those of you unaware, Yeezy is Kanye West's attempt at fashion. Need I say more? Absolutely. This collection is more about the artist's affection for baggy hoodies and designing "clothes" for himself and his equally infamous wife than for actual consumers, which are beneath him. West won't stop "creating" until the world deems him the "GREATEST ARTIST THAT EVER LIVED"; a lot like the businessman's entire campaign. Regardless of the [offensive] designer "rags" being sold for thousands of dollars; people can't get enough. Makes zero sense at all. But don't tell them that, or you're likely to be subjected to an ongoing Twitter rant. 

Ah, fashion. It's so political.       

A Lot Of Art - A Lack Of Appreciation

What I learned, from working at The Met. 

I was so excited. Beside myself with sincere giddiness and disbelief. I'd just landed a part-time gig at one of the world's greatest art museums, temping for one of the greatest fashion exhibitions in history. How on earth did I do that. I had no idea. Nor did I give a single hoot about the embarrassingly low pay. I was going to be a much needed facilitator for the Metropolitan Museum of Art's 2011 Savage Beauty: Alexander McQueen exhibition; the Costume Institute's annual fashion event, and I felt like the most spoiled kid on Christmas morning. That year I was deep in the throes of my second term at The New School studying fashion and fine art journalism. This, combined with a love and admiration for the late designer granted the obvious desperation I harbored for such a position. Aside from my artsy alma mater and a couple of fashion/photography internships I'd completed, this would be my first real experience working in the fine art world, and boy-oh-boy did I walk away with an entirely new set of conflicting ideals after. Both beautiful and damned; much like the Hopper's I cherished. After the prolonged, tremendously popular exhibit finally came to a close I was offered another part-time but permanent position with The Museum, as a Groups Services Associate. Four, sometimes five days a week I sat at the Groups Desk in the Great Hall or Education Center, granting access to private docents, lecturing professors, lost students, and foreigners toting City Passes. I initially walked into The Met happy; utterly grateful. I walked out two-and-a-half years later miserable, bitchy, and utterly hateful. Here's what I learned in that time, and why I believe it all matters. 

Stop Complaining About Entry Fees.  So you think art should be free, huh? Sure, we should all--every one of us--have access to as much art as possible on a regular basis. Art has been proven to be therapeutic, beneficial for developing young minds, and it's culturally, historically rich. But if you aren't willing to contribute even a dollar to the industry then who is exactly? The Arts Orgs are mostly entirely non-profit sectors. Which means, they rely heavily on government funding and donors. If you so adamantly refuse to pay to play but still insist upon having access, just imagine a world where art museums no longer exist. Can you picture it? It could very well happen. And that thought, to me, is far more traumatizing than a Donald Trump Presidency--which is ungodly terrifying. It costs The Met upwards of $40+ dollars for every person present in the museum, from heating and cooling to insurance and liability coverages. So, pay a penny or the recommended value and shut up already. Just be happy it's still that cheap and accessible to be in the company of such magnificent Greats.

If you're in school, learn something for the love of ____.  I can't begin to fathom the amount of college students who literally have no clue. About anything. More oftentimes than not, university students would approach the desk with zero personality, mumbling incoherent "speak" about having to meet their professor for a private lecture, but having zero clue as to what they were studying nor their professor's name. And these were midterm classes, people. Meaning, school had been in session for at least a couple of months. Can you at least tell me where you're currently in school? Wonderful. I literally can't with young adults these days. Are social skills just no longer relevant? Because they sure as hell were practically beaten into me. Thankfully. 

Have some respect.  Mind your manners like a civilized person while perusing works of art worth far more than your life. When you worship in your personal God's House on Sundays; during Mass or Shabbat would you ever be disrespectful? A museum or gallery is a church to so many people; housing a substantial number of otherworldly "Gods", none of which deserve to be abused. The acts of violence I've witnessed to so many works of art is astounding. From using a Rodin as a resting place to text to spitting sunflower seeds beneath Monet to fondling Pierre Auguste Cot's ancient oils and excessively capturing Modigliani with a blinding flash. All of which is just scraping the surface of happenings. The crimes I've seen such ungrateful assholes commit to irreplaceable works of art is disturbing. Have some respect for art, or simply don't engage. 

Open your mind.  A museum makes for a great Instagram pic, no doubt. It says to your followers that you're getting your culture on and what's not cool about that? But if you're actually taking the time to enter and walk the halls of these wondrous galleries put the phone down and open the mind. Pick at least one artist to discover, admire, and backlog into the memory. Your personality, creativity, and mood just won the lottery of healthy influence. Cheers to that. 

Turn your phone off entirely.  Because as much as you love them there's just no comparison to your bestie's selfies vs Renoir's. 

Be kind.  Large museums are filled with volunteers and part-time employees barely making enough money to survive mostly because they too, are artists, or defiantly passionate about the industry. These workers deal with the most diverse crowd on a daily basis. People from all over the world with differing habits, beliefs, languages, manners, and needs. Most of us were force-smiling through the tears at all times. Need something? Don't want to pay the recommended access fee or wait in line? Kindness, as with any event, will get you farthest.

Go with a granny.  While at The New School I shared many classes with a young, very wealthy and proper Brit. He'd been formally trained in worldly cultures and the arts during his upbringing in London, as his parents were collectors. At first I didn't care for him as he seemed a bit arrogant and silly. But we soon became great friends and I learned a lot from his formalities. Benjamin's favorite museum outing was with a "granny"; his own grandmother or that of a friend. The older the better, he'd recommend, as their opinions, views and intellect greatly influenced his own in ways no peer or parent even, ever had. I miss that kid.  

Make it a habit.  Because as I mentioned previously, the world remains a wondrous, gorgeous place to dwell with art around us. In modern times today, children are growing further away from becoming culturally and creatively influenced with the steady rise of technology and social media. Supporting the arts is an easy act of just showing up; seeking it out while its gifts are so readily available to us. The Opera and Ballet industries have suffered a significant decline over the years, with primary audience members majorly or even exclusively being the elderly; those beloved grannies. To lose interest in fine art all-together would be one of the greatest--if not the greatest--travesty to humankind. Can you imagine a world without Starry Night? I can't and I certainly don't want to. There's a reason graffiti and street art rose to exquisite lengths to bring us Basquiat and Banksy. Artists will continue to breed and for those that want a greater, wider audience, loathe "establishments" or simply seek exposure turn to the streets and public spaces to tag and/or showcase their works. Thankfully, demand has only grown for more. But don't be so quick to ignore the museums, galleries and theaters that demand a profit. The greater the variety of art available to us the greater new artists will only become.

I hate what I learned at The Met, but I deeply love what The Met taught me.        

Humble, With A Pinch Of Kanye

The ego: A person's sense of self-esteem or self-importance. Also known as a personality trait or characteristic required of celebrities, politicians, and any more-famous societal leaders to succeed in getting ahead of their peers and colleagues. Look around at the most buzzed about figures in the media today, famous or infamous, and the one commonality these popular figures share is a sizable ego. But of course there's some obvious self-obsession taking place with these glorified beings; establishing a dominance in one's playing field is a necessary evil in surpassing those who came before, and will continue to come long after you. Believing in oneself, or playing a damn good game of it is the surest way in getting others to believe the hype too. Is it possible though, in modern times where the famous are cherished more than they're abhorred for displaying tremendous amounts of self-love to eventually have that praise backfire, due to an insurmountable ego? 

Type "egomaniac" into Google Images and there's an overwhelming number of Kanye West and Donald Trump photos. The first, a musician/fashion designer/antagonist, and the second being a Businessman/Presidential Candidate. Two different soapboxes yet equally matching ungodly egos and figurative stances. The more these guys put down others who so much as balk at their "accomplishments" or "artistry" in order to demand the respect and praise they so blindingly "deserve" the more rabid their fans become. Has humanity always been this disenchanted with humility? I honestly don't recall a time when we weren't so obsessed with self-obsession. Are people so down on their own lives that they get off on watching others riot for personal praise? More importantly, does it age me tremendously that I find this behavior vile and insulting to creative professionals everywhere?  

To each their own but for me, personally, I don't ever want to be force fed. A rebel at heart, I'll hear your pitch till the day is long but you'll lose me for good with aggressive insistence. I don't want you to believe I'm the best writer that ever lived because I simply don't want the weight of that pressure. I don't need validity that extreme. It's also wholly unfair to all of the greatest writers who've come before me, paving the way for other diverse players in a very large pool of equally skilled talent. In my dreams I'm able to lace together prose in the most lyrical format like Nabokov. In reality I know I'll never surpass him because we aren't two in the same, and honestly I don't want to deny him any iota of that heavy title in being "one of the best". I also don't want to live in a world without Lolita, or anything of its caliber of writing. That's the problem with an overgrown ego. Any room for personal growth, human emotion, and beautiful failures are obsolete. The buck stops at you, and only you. Where's the art in that?

Why do we continue to uphold the pedestals for overinflated egomaniacs, and when, where--if ever--does it end. I find few things more beautiful than the act of creating a movement or art piece simply for the love of doing it rather than the self-gratifying praise in getting it done. Don't force me to believe you're the better candidate or artist by insulting my judgement or taste when I don't immediately comply. If you truly want to be considered the best in the world at what you do, stop verbally insisting upon it and show us that you are by actively changing the game for the better. Far too many people with authority use fear as a tool in getting others to champion for them which is the most pathetic method in advocating for acceptance and praise. Bullies go after those who don't worship them. How are these over-served celebrities nursing huge egos any different. Why are so many of us contributing to this. Are we that starved for entertainment? 

When I think of The Greats, many diverse icons come to mind for different, yet equal reason. Oscar de la Renta, David Bowie, Lincoln, Roosevelt, MLK, Beck, Nina Simone, Salinger, Hopper, Basquiat, Baryshnikov, Misty Copeland, Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton, Yves, Saint Laurent, Harper Lee (RIP Today), Nabokov, Janis Joplin, etc, etc, etc. All of these tremendous talents and more, whether stricken with addiction, personality afflictions and intolerable inner demons never had to repeatedly stomp their feet and demand the world recognize them as the greatest living thing that ever existed. Granted, some of these influencers never had the chance but even still, they leant us their gifts and we followed suit, or not. Without having to be shamed in doing so. Don't tell me you're the greatest artist or anything that ever lived. Allow me the chance to decide that for myself, or else it's inauthentic and where the hell is the honor in that, genius. You're allowed the occasional tantrum as a child--not when you're a grownup. The fact that you never outgrew those terrible-twos speaks volumes far louder than anything else you're so desperately trying to sell me. 

Call it a "brilliant marketing move" or not. You egomaniacs have us all talking, sure. Kudos to your publicist and/or your unflinching confidence and outspoken self-worth. But it takes a real man to relish in a bit of sincere humility.       

Raised In The South. Matured In NYC

I've said it countless times by now; New York City is the only real finishing school a girl needs. With just nearly seven years of Brooklyn living behind me, I'm still hardly considered a New Yorker. An honorary title one must fully commit to putting in the time to earn, and one I truly respect. There's a reason the old adage, "if you can make it here you can make it anywhere", is widely thrown around and promotes pure truth. Even for a billionaire, this is no easy place to settle into. Which is exactly why NYC can be the very best teacher for anyone willing and able to stick around for awhile and learn a few things. 

There are tremendous treasures to inherit when you're raised in the deep south, and I'm not referring to money. Etiquette worthy of Emily Post engrained in us at birth and a genuine kindness from our neighbors to mere strangers. Patience and ease are rights of passage in the towns where soups and stews take as long as pickling and preserving--common concoctions served daily and nightly by mamas, daddies, grandmothers, and papas from tried and true recipes handed down for generations. Say what you will about the south, even amidst the unfortunate past and unflinching stigmas, there's a sweetness to the air that's impossible to deny, nor is it comparable to any other part of the world. Perhaps it's a southern prerequisite that can best prepare a young woman for the meaner streets of big city living in her adult life. Or, maybe not, and it really just all depends on the strength and even a bit of masochism of any woman. Either way, I'm here to attest; give this city ample time and you'll walk--or at least hobble--away having learned more in a year than any finishing school will teach you.  

Patience and nurturing an inner calm are imperative for a New Yorker to make it past dinner without hurting themselves or others along the way. The former I've never been cozy with, but undoubtedly I still try to summon daily. Nothing can be counted on here except for your rent to go up. Train schedules, weather, fares, attitudes and neighborhoods all change on a dime with zero to very little warning. Need to get somewhere on time? Leave two hours earlier, even if it's a thirty minute commute. It takes a great deal of zen not to come completely unglued on an over-crowed, stalled train car when you're running twenty minutes behind and you left your apartment an hour earlier than usual. The same can be said when the cabbie insists he's "unable to take credit cards right now" and "can only take cash" after you're a block from home and you already know this game. In a city swarming with culture you best not show up to any gathering without an encyclopedic mental guide to the latest exhibits, theater, film and music offerings, or prepare to be demoted to the kid's table, where even they'll know more than you do, which they'll inform you in French. Restaurant and bar gigs are as hard to come by here as office jobs. Unless you've worked for Keller or Batali, fully understand the massive difference between a fresh truffle and truffle oil, or have perfected your beaujolais breakdown and how to make a mean Manhattan--without Google's help. In New York, you're cracking jokes with your Muslim cabbie, haggling with a Chinese purveyor, giving directions to Finnish tourists, pondering Dominican pastries, initiated by beggars at every corner, feeling like a beggar at every corner--all before lunchtime.

In the City That Never Sleeps, it's impossible to feel strange. You encounter just about every type, personality, association, caliber, race, religion, mindset, disability, inability, class, title, professional, unprofessional, idiot, genius, profound, basic, known, unknown on a regular basis. What or whom was once foreign now feels like an old friend. Or, at least, something or someone oddly, even ironically familiar. A 7-day MTA pass will grant you VIP access to the best bible pushers, breakdancers, mariachi trios, guitar strummers, bongo thumpers, preachers, peddlers, naysayers, criers, crazed slashers, and story-tellers you'd hoped [or not] to encounter when you're just trying to get to work. Live entertainment has never been more affordable, more accessible, nor more common than it is in this town at any given moment. As unwelcome you feel its intrusion is on the sourest of days, the sounds of a cello, violin or acoustic guitar greeting you in the catacombs of filth and despair that is New York's subway is a gift you never knew you craved. 

New York City is a hodgepodge of everything in the world being thrown at you at once. Whether it's yet to be discovered trends, breaking news, culture clashes, advanced technology or media sensations it's impossible not to be "tuned in" to the latest, greatest, and lamest. Even for the hipsters-too-cool to own cable TV, they're still surrounded by world views the minute they leave their tiny Bushwick crawl spaces. I thought I knew a thing or two about life, the world, and sharing it with billions of others unique to me. Turns out, I knew enough to get by, thanks to my southern roots, but the buck stops there. Hailing from the Hospitality State, naturally adopting kindness and flattery will get you in the door. A crash course in NYC-living may just get you a seat at the table. Being polite and sincere cushioned the reaction from a Hasidic landlord when I went to shake his hand and look him in the eye before I realized my faults. Interviews with angry fashion execs have been far less painful, thanks to a little southern charm, even if I didn't get the job and walked away hiding my tears. 

In just 6+ years of living in NYC I've learned tidbits in Korean thanks to Seoul bosses, proper Italian food and wine pronunciations [so I don't look like an asshole] from Italian employers. I've learned the difference between Cézanne and Matisse, Munch and Van Gogh, de Kooning and Pollock. Graffiti and differenciating between tagging, pissing, wheat-pasting, throwing, and stenciling. I've learned that 99 cent Jamaican beef patties, street meat, and Polish knishes are deliciously satisfying when I could barely afford to eat. Give her enough time and New York is guaranteed to kick you when you're down. At least once, you will be that person sobbing on the train, falling down in the icy streets, begging for an apartment, clocking in at multiple jobs for rent's sake, getting pushed or pushing back, getting dumped by everyone not just a lover, feeling utterly hopeless, like you can't go on and why on everything that is holy did you move here. It will happen. It happens to everyone, and the good news is you're actually better because of it. Even through the bitterness, you've conquered so much, when it mostly feels like nothing at all. You stay, because the good days are enough to keep you engaged and ultimately curious. That, or you really are a masochist.  

It's impossible to feel superior to any one group in a town that is completely saturated with every identity out there. You share the streets, seats, even buildings with people you've never encountered before, and you certainly share an underlying bond. In a city where so many dreams come to die or thrive, you're all just trying to make it out alive. You get it, and each other. You might never make eye contact or utter a word to the stranger pressed up against you on an overcrowded train, but there's a weird kinship there, like we're all in this together. That's why NYC truly is the greatest city on earth. She's also the best teacher, if you're willing to learn from her. My graduation is still pending, but I came here to fight. 

The Name Game

I'll never forget a valuable piece of advice given to me from an unlikely source long ago. I was in my early twenties, working as a personal shopper in a very high-end, upscale boutique close to home in the south. One of my favorite clients was a single woman in her late thirties whose very successful profession as a medical supply sales rep garnered her the fat income needed to afford her weekly visits to my expensive dressing room. "P" was hilarious, and regularly supplied me with colorful recaps of her dating life between outfit changes. One thing I always found most fascinating was her obvious success in a very cut-throat male dominated field surrounded by doctors and PhDs, while she more humbly claimed an Associates or Bachelors at best on her short resume. Yet here she was, maintaining a high six-figure salary with impressive annual bonuses like it was child's play. What's more, P wasn't what I'd call naturally book smart or brainy. Her jovial personality, wit and people skills more than made up for her lack of scholarly creds, mind you. Still, I was intrigued with P's accomplishments and driven to know more. What was her secret. One day, while I crouched on the floor of her dressing room amidst twenty-thousand dollars worth of merchandise she was gently considering buying I asked her. "P, how did you get into your profession?" While adjusting her La Perla bra strap, without even giving the question much thought, she turned to me and said, "Babe, it's not what you know, it's who you know", before turning back around to slip on a pair of $1,800 pants. I felt like I'd been given the golden key to unlocking the universe. Why hadn't anyone informed me of this before. It was the smartest, and most useful thing P had ever said to me. Which, all things considered, our convos usually consisted of Prada, cleavage, suede or velvet, and silicone vs saline.. Turns out her best friend had her job before deciding a marriage and babies were more important so she put P, a woman whom wanted nothing else but her job, in her place. A hungry go-getter that longed for nothing else, other than becoming the most successful medical supply sales agent in the south.   

P's story is hardly identical to the moral of this one, which is that no-namers have to work incredibly hard--harder than their more recognizable competition--to get ahead in their field and actually make a name for themselves all their own. 16yr old Brooklyn Beckham, son of those Beckhams, Victoria & David, was recently pegged to shoot the Burberry Brit campaign, and people all over the globe are absolutely losing their insides over it. His juvenile status combined with the fact he allegedly only recently started playing around with photography has caused an outrage to hardworking seasoned photogs everywhere. It's a pretty safe assumption had he not been born into Beckham "royalty" he wouldn't have such a covetable gig. Clearly. But can the same be said for Kendall Jenner and her sudden supermodel status? Sure, she's tall, thin and beautiful but had the former reality star not been spawned from celebrity parents would she be walking the shows for Lagerfeld and Chanel Couture in Paris? The debate is still on the table. Famous genes or not, she's steadily booking high profile gigs with zero signs of losing steam any time in the near future. The success of that entire Klan is questionable though, and always up for debate (or just plain hate), let's be honest. 

Hollywood, London or New York--the film, fashion, and fine art industries--go down the lists and you're sure to find that almost every power player shares a family tree with the elite. This is the way the world has worked since the beginning of time. It's the reason sororities, fraternities, leagues and clubs were formed; to single out the order of hierarchy and network amongst your peers. Assigning a job that must garner as much attention as possible to a 16yr old celebrity over a brilliant, trained pro is as obvious as it is unfair. Even though I'm willing to bet the Beckham kid does a better than okay job with his new role, seeing that his "mum" is a fashion GODDESS as is his father. It also doesn't hurt that the teen has 5.9 million followers on Instagram. When you gross a number that challenges that, you will book every job too, glitzy gene pool or not. 

Listen, I know all too well the bitter taste of losing out to those with a more recognizable moniker than my own. As a fashion journalist I've often been picked over for girls half my age-younger with no previous writing experience save for Tweets simply because they already have a following. Doing what exactly, outside of social media, I haven't a clue. The unwarranted rejection has gotten me down time and again. But there's a positive to this, folks, and not simply to offer you cliched advice. Having to work that much harder to compete with celeb status or family notoriety makes you better than the competition in your playing field; your work that much more glorious. Being a "nobody" also awards you plenty of room for error, something that's completely robbed from the famous. Maybe one out of millions of people hope to see you fall when you're a "simpleton", while the opposite is terribly true for the most watched. When we are rewarded with praise and promotions no one is saying that it's strictly because of who birthed us and that we're lacking any talent otherwise. Brooklyn and Kendall hear this on the regular. We actually get the chance to prove we're good enough simply by the work we put forth. We get to start with a clean slate. Big names don't exactly have that luxury. I don't know about you, but I want to be known as Robyn The Great Writer, never--Robyn, You Know, From That Family/Fame That Thinks She's A Writer. 

So yeah. Those of us born with a regular spoon in our mouths, not the fancy kind, have to work extra damn hard to get ahead. But you know what never hurt a person? Hard work; a challenge; and success you can claim all your own. Just ask Oprah. 

Bleak Street

Bleak Street: When nothing you do summons concentrated, conscious, thought-provoking and sound, invigorating mental content worthy of depositing onto anything tangible for others--more/less yourself--to read and share. When the contemplative part of the brain has blown a fuse and you can't seem to find the right switch. You're able to function as normal; routines are promptly met and nurtured with forthright stamina but any creativity; any twinge of inspiration has been depleted almost entirely from within, you're here. Welcome to Bleak Street. Get cozy and settle in. It could be a brief meeting or a long one, depending on a variety of factors at play in this thing we confusingly, unanimously call life. I checked in earlier in the week, sort of by surprise, mind you. But that's how these mental vacations go, really. You don't always see them coming until one day you find yourself staring at a blank screen and you realize you haven't moved in days. It's a block. Some refer to it as writer's block but I think of it as a more all-consuming commitment you never really signed up for. Like a credit card statement after an exhausting, mostly forgetful bout in Vegas you never planned on attending in the first place. Does any of this make sense? Of course not! Nothing my brain regurgitates these days makes any damn sense. I don't know if it's the congealing negativity in the world lately, the fear of our nation's future, the impending snowstorm 'Jonas' approaching, looming deadlines hanging over my head or lack thereof, the everyday hustle or all of the above. What I am certain about is that I haven't been able to get through a lengthy post I began on Monday (five days ago), sharing why I care about the Presidency and politics, when these things take me a single day to complete, tops. So much goes into a subject matter deemed so risky, alienating and personal. In order for any political stance to have a shred of focus or validity it takes equal parts head and heart, facts and fiction. This is a tough one. But one I'd really like to share with my readers since I've shown a great deal of passion (good and bad) for politics over the years. I'll eventually [hopefully] finish that post, after the dust in my mind has settled and my thoughts are back in harmony. Until then, I give you something else I've transcribed from my erratic mindful(less) conclusions. A rhythmic exercise I practice to clear the conscious. 

Bleak Street

It's raining, raining, raining

The waning, waning, waning

The pain

It's so profane. Mundane. Excruciatingly lame

Makes you go insane

Can it be tamed?

Everyone is hungry. We all feel a pang

Why then, does it initiate such shame

Provoking so much vitriol. Nothing but blame

To others, it's merely an ongoing game

Fear has uprooted a dangerous twang

You and me. We're not so different I believe. If you, becomes we

So much freedom, yet no one is truly free

I am braver than you, because I see

There's more beauty in those far different than the familiar he or she

Anger and resentment are the most expensive fees

Winter becomes Spring. Gone is life's greatest luxury

Love is lighter, freer, and wiser than hate

Look fear in the face and plan your escape

Let go of what ails you. Begin your life. Before it's too damn late

Start over again on a later date, and put forth your best, useful fate.

xx RRR

Bowing For Bowie

The world lost THE fashion icon of our time today. David Bowie was many, many things. Musician, Rock Star, fashion influencer, producer, artist, actor, gender-bender, icon, creator, writer, dancer, dreamer, father, husband, friend, activist, mentor, LEGEND. And so, so much more. Since the late sixties the icon of all icons completely transformed fashion, art, music, creative expression and gender fluidity, and he managed to do it all without losing himself even one iota to the massive celebrity that stigmatizes such an illustrious creature almost incessantly. Bowie remained private, unassuming, kind and humble until his ultra bright star faded into eternity. 

Like the undeniable union of glam and rock, Bowie would find a lasting partnership with fashion's queen herself, and original supermodel, Iman. What a complimentary pair they made for one another. Fashion royalty wrapped in utter enigmatic style, art, glitz and grace and finished in pure gold. Full lifetimes can exist without one ever imagining nor realizing the untouchable lengths of exquisitely original art given to us by these two, separately yet parallel. At 69, the very same numerical year the artist debuted his first hit with "Space Oddity", Bowie says goodbye to his unforgettable journey here on earth for his next adventure beyond. I, for one, will remember him for all of the things and accomplishments listed above. But his finest role to me, is that of the coolest, most original and purest fashion heroes I'll ever witness again. 

Before any other pop, rockstar, or artist attempted shock & awe fashion with an elaborate stage presence and crazy-creative ensembles to match, Bowie had already solidified everything they'd hoped to prove and so much more. Ziggy Stardust personas and glittered bodysuits aside, the artist was able to brilliantly and compatibly transition between one uniquely honed style after another unlike those before and after him. Just when we got to know Mod-Bowie he'd introduce us to Hippy-Bowie before giving us Glam-Bowie followed by Soul-Bowie, Berlin-Bowie, New Romantic-Bowie, and finally Modern-Bowie--none of which was merely "settling" into a specific look. Each identity was a full commitment to a supremely painted character like no other, mind you. What's more, it was nothing short of a natural embodiment. 

David Bowie, may your star glimmer even brighter for your next act. It was purely an honor sharing the same soil with you for years, and I thank you for giving us all the best show of our entire lives with plenty of your gifts to satiate us in your absence. You will forever be remembered, and continuously missed.       

Bravo, Balmain

I give Olivier Rousteing a ton of crap. The Balmain designer is supremely talented, without question, especially for a young lad still in his 20s, turning out collections with full aplomb every season without a single fail. But oftentimes it's quite difficult to see the brilliance behind all the bullshit. You see, Olivier is an active social media player and selfies are his number one affliction. The designer doesn't just post pics of himself smizing in an inspirational setting with words of wisdom or anything remotely interesting to share, oh no. That would be far too normcore for this diva. Instead, it's selfies of him in bed, always at an angle that highlights his HUGE upper lip and razor sharp cheekbones he achieves by biting the ever-living shit out of his cheeks. One or two of these posts and you're all, "oh, okay, he's pretty", but after a barrage of them and that acceptance turns into a violent "ugh make it stahhp!" rage. Selfie perp aside, Olivier is obsessed with the Kardashians. Like, OBSESSED. No one is spared, not even the mom. The designer is all up in their game, casting the sisters in campaigns, throwing parties around them as the guests of honor, putting them FROW at his shows--or even in his shows, and so on. He'd kover himself in Kards if he could. Instead he just buries them in Balmain. When he's not krazy for the K's he's surrounding himself with any other current pop culture icon strictly for praise and/or popularity. Quite like Miss T Swift, but that's an entirely different blog post.. 

Fashion is steadily slipping away from us, streaming down a path of over-sensationalized everything. My rant on this issue is never ending, but can we all please just hang on to one measly thread of originality and actual substance in this industry before it's completely gone, disintegrated for eternity (ah, remember the Calvin Klein ads with Christy? Good ole days..)? It's as if there's nothing sacred left in fashion at all. Reality stars and trust fund babies are the new models and campaign stars. Vapid little girls whom really never worked hard for something a day in their privileged lives. This wouldn't be so soul crushing if these girls at least brought something meaningful to the table. Being beautiful shouldn't be enough. Brains and pure kindness should always surpass looks. But what do I know. After all, I'm just a little known writer living in Brooklyn on dollars and cents. Mostly cents. 

Just when florescent lights seemed to dim on fashion forever, a glimmer of hope sparkled today in a very dark, unlikely corner. Balmain released photos of their latest campaign, featuring the gloriously fabulous, extraordinarily iconic, untouchable, incomparable, supermodels of ALL supermodels--Naomi, Claudia and Cindy. God hasn't exited the fashion building entirely after all. She's still got one foot in the velvet lobby. 

Thank you, Olivier. For making the smartest decision of your career yet. You've earned yourself at least a week's worth of bedroom selfies free of any shade. 

What Are We Masking?

When I was a sophomore in college it was the early 2000s and arguably one of the WORST fashion decades of all time. Velour track-suits, flared yoga pants, handkerchief tops and trucker hats filled the rafters of techno clubs and classrooms. It was a dreadful period, one that makes me cringe in utter shame when I think back to my own questionable wardrobe. Prior to a night on the town I'd never eat past 11am (that is, when I was up before noon) because my abs, which were always exposed (thanks, Britney!), needed to be flat as possible and all the fast food or canned soup I favored wouldn't allow for this. I'd need at least two hours to get ready and anything less than that would not suffice. To perfect just one smokey eye I'd need thirty minutes tops. I washed my hair every time to cheat maximum volume with a thin/fine mane which required blowing it dry, flat-ironing, and finishing each strand with a curling iron or hot rollers for luster. Two and a half hours later I was ready to get dressed. I'd slip on some stringy excuse for a top and a tiny skirt, adjust my two bras (yes, TWO. Because one just didn't give the girls nearly the cuppage I so desperately wanted), douse myself in perfume and out the door I went. This was the norm in 2003 for a twenty-one year old. A young woman, no longer a girl yet still not a woman, just trying her damnedest to find herself and break a few hearts or egos along the way. Now, 10+ years later, that unknowingly-insecure little lady is like an old friend that I once barely knew, someone I'd grab a drink with on occasion but a girl I just never made an honest effort in remaining close.

That young soul would finally make peace with her bra size (now I wish they were smaller. funny how that happens), swapped a smokey eye for just a coat of black mascara, traded her miniskirts in for Levi's and even actually put the hot hair tools in storage, making a rare appearance maybe once a year. And you know what? Cliches aside but pure honesty here--I feel far prettier today than I ever did then. Even on my worst days. It took a ton of mishaps, constructive criticism, revolving styles, and loads of self-trust to realize all that false advertisement was only hindering instead helping me. I concluded that the guy who preferred all that excess wasn't the guy that I was naturally attracted to. I wanted a man that didn't really understand makeup or how it all worked. Eventually he'd see the "real" me and, well, that could be catastrophic. Also, I was constantly embarrassed by the tan rings and skid marks I was leaving behind on everything my face came into contact with. It was like Death Becomes Her, and I couldn't go anywhere without my spray-paint for emergency patchwork which seemed impossible to escape. Even though I wouldn't dare leave the house without all of my protective armor, secretly I envied and crushingly admired those peers who regularly waltzed about au naturale, free and glowing without a care in the world wether their boobs were symmetrical or if their lipgloss was intact. On the outside I appeared stylish and confident but on the inside I felt ugly and tired. A slave to the Maybelline masks and VS Miracle Bras I so aptly hid behind. I look back at old photos and see a prettier albeit heavily powdered, thinner, tanner (terribly so) girl than I ever gave myself credit for. Ah, the trials of young adulthood and the woes of adopting humility and self-appreciation. It wouldn't happen overnight, but yes, I grew into myself and into "me". I still feel the need to throw on a bit of blush and mascara before showing my face in public but this is a far cry from the masterful art strokes I used to apply for hours. I'd really like to have whiter teeth, fuller brows and a tighter ass. I've regularly experimented with contouring and hair colors, and I'm admittedly guilty of taking a duck-faced selfie or two for all of my [very few] Instagram followers to loathe. Normal, right? Compared to the rest of the Instagram world today I hardly feel criminal about any of this. 

Contouring to highlight one's best features is one thing, but what is with these human(?) Bratz Dolls invading our modern world, and more importantly--why do so many women deem it direly necessary to function. There are hours-long makeup tutorials on YouTube, Venmo and beyond instructing anyone [that hates their natural face] how to achieve Drag Queen status and charging hundreds of dollars in the process. Lilly Ghalichi comes to mind immediately. The mogul has solidified a serious career with every Persian-Barbie-esque-inch of her big fake hair, fake boobs, lashes and everything in-between. She's so "perfect" she hardly looks human. Perhaps that's the point?.. Massive props to her and her smart entrepreneurial ways, no one can deny her self-made success, that's for sure. But just the other day I was Insta-scrolling when I happened upon one of her daily contouring tutorials and it seriously made me ponder--wouldn't slipping on a mask be easier and less messy? Lilly is gorgeous, no doubt. Even still, I can't help but wonder if she actually believes that too. Extreme self-distortion is a certified sign of deep insecurity. Take Kim K. & Kylie J. These sisters/reality stars have been open about their insecurities in the past, with Kylie feverishly enhancing her lips and Kim enhancing, well, everything (allegedly). Both beauties are also main players in the contour--makeup game with sold-out cosmetic lines and even waist trainers. Just watching one of those makeup lessons is both fascinating and terrifying. What starts out as a streaky, painted clown reveals an airbrushed mannequin ready for her close-up. Do these women get to kiss anyone, actually hug someone they love or do they walk around with an invisible cone around their head, ready to behead any personal space offender with their 2.55 Chanel bag? I'm sorry, there are days I'd love to look like a porcelain doll too but foregoing real kisses is no way to live. But hey, ultimately it's all about how you feel. And if shellacking your face and body into a most unrealistic robot helps you achieve inner peace then by all means, faux yourself to your heart's content. I wouldn't change a thing about Dolly Parton. Not a damn square inch of her. But then again, Dolly is built for the stage and entertaining and therefore she's long had her schtick down. And she's damn fabulous at it too. This is also why Drag Queens are so astonishing. They have managed to transform their entire face and body into another gender entirely, beautifully so, specifically for the stage, the theater and to entertain. Why should women or men then feel the need to disguise their real selves just to grab a coffee, or even for a damn jog? It's become so prevalent today, so misused that I really can't see an end in sight. Before we know it, masks are the norm and natural is completely out. I just think we're once again hurting ourselves, our society and younger generations by believing we aren't good enough. Sure, none of us should settle for subpar personal achievements yet we could and should strive to be our very best, prettiest selves inside and out. But conforming into someone else entirely and wholly rejecting the faces and bodies we're destined to have is really just downright sad, and dangerous. 

One of the biggest surprise acknowledgements I've ever convinced myself to accept is that people have almost always preferred the real me over the overdone me. You, too, might actually like the person hiding behind the costume. I can guarantee you the rest of the world sure would.  

16 Farewells In 2016

While everyone else is hitting the gym strong on January 2 only to quit before February, or swearing off donuts forever only to inhale a dozen cream-filled a day later, how about taking a rather different approach to New Year's resolutions for once. Self-denying something you deeply love or committing yourself full-throttle to those terrible things you loathe does not make for a very realistic goal for anyone, not even the truest of masochists. So as you're winding down the remaining hours of 2015, dreaming yet again of that Pinterest-worthy life you covet over the next twelve months, how about making a bit of a compromise this time around the sun. 

Just getting out of bed each morning is commitment enough. Why set yourself up for failure by torturing yourself even further with empty self-promises. The main goal with any resolution is to be a better person in some way, shape or form, right? Well, how about starting small and working your way up from there. Baby steps. After all, slow and steady wins the race. 

Let's begin with a light stretch, shall we. Instead of picking up a shiny new gym or juice club membership, let's appraise a few minor, but effective shortcomings to put down. In honor of 2016, here are 16 things we should all bid adieu starting January 1: 

I: Send your inner mean girl packing once and for all. This goes for you too, gents. Because being an unwarranted bitch or bully is soooo 2014. Exuding grace and compassion is far more attractive than that of a hateful jerk. 

II: Quit the guilt. For every french fry, glass of wine, or bite of cheesecake you consume chase it with something pulled from a garden. Don't write-off your vices entirely (unless that vice is heroin then, well...), just adopt a steady balance of good and evil. Also, a french fry you make at home or one that is "whole" is still far better than one Mr. McDonald offers. Keep that in mind too. 

III: Stop being so mean to yourself. Really, enough. You deserve better, and that's that. 

IV: Stop giving your dollars away to cheap fashion. You know I had to throw this one in there, right? But honestly, to piggyback on III, your body and future wardrobe deserve better. And you can afford better, it's called thrifting. Try it. 

V: Stop wasting everything. Turn off the lights when you leave a room. The water when you brush before rinsing. Order less food or actually eat it if you save it. Better yet, offer your leftovers to the guy begging for money on the corner. I promise he'll eat it. Even if his response says otherwise. Give clothing you don't wear to shelters rather than dust bunnies. You get the jest. Less really is more. Basically, cut back, bitch! 

VI: Give up at least one cigarette a day. Come on, smokey, you can let go of one. 

VII: Designate one day that's completely off-limits to social media. That means 24hrs of ZERO Facebook, Insta, Snapchat, etc. Remember the days when we actually read a book or talked face to face with someone? Or even received a hand-written note in the mail?? No? Well shame on you! That should cost you an entire week of absolutely no social media privileges but the point of this is baby steps and forgiveness. Nonetheless, think about how envious your online friends will be over your quiet social feeds for a day. They'll think you went out and got yourself a life. 

VIII: Stop eating and drinking crap. As mentioned in II, eat what you love in moderation like everything else, but simply eat whole. Whole as in foods without added preservatives and other scary stuff in them. Stuff you can't pronounce. Plus, a burger from local grass-fed cattle with real cheese is SO much more scrumptious than those sad patties of mystery meat found in a drive-thru. 

IX: Stop hating everything and everyone. So what if your colleague is always happy for no reason at all or your neighbor gets a new car every six months. Mind your own business and focus on yourself. Also, can we all please try and tackle our inner racist? Unless your first name starts with Dalai or Pope you harbor some--even a tiny bit--of bigotry within and it's only tainting your beautiful insides so exorcise that ugliness right outta there, will ya. Thanks. 

X: Quit trying to be someone/something you're just not. It's fine to admire and idolize others but even identical twins aren't wholly identical. Cloning is weird, unnatural and scary, okay. There's only one you, so be that and make her/him uniquely fabulous all your own. Believe it or not, diversity is what makes this life, this planet so darn interesting. 

XI: Like, can you like stop with the like, god-awful vocabulary like yesterday? K thanx byyyyyeeeee. Remember folks, a little intelligence goes a looooooooooooong way. Clearly it's fun to act all uncivilized now and again, but if you find yourself using "like" entirely more as an adverb than any of its other literary uses on a regular basis you need to quit that. Like, now. 

XII: Stop judging. As fabulous as you are, perfect you are not. Unless you carry a gavel, wear a black robe and get paid to persecute people you, my dear, you have no right to pass judgement on anyone else. *snap* 

XIII: Stop being angry. Hangry is excusable, but that deeper toxic stuff needs to be left behind in the gym, confession, the fireplace or in the ground because again, you deserve better and so does the rest of the world. Hard as it is or not, work through it, and let that sh** go. 

XIV: Denounce that crappy friend. This goes for lovers too. Because it's really pointless to keep entertaining the notion that one day they'll care. Guess what--they won't. And trust me when I advise you'll only feel worse the longer it takes, after this notion finally kicks in. Show them this list, then rip that bandaid off and move on. Fini! 

XV: Stop pushing yourself until you crumble. Everyone has a breaking point. Even built-from-steel machines breakdown eventually. Know your limits, recharge and offer no apologies after. 

XVI: Enough with the excuses. Own it, whatever it is, and kindly move on. Kindly being the key word here. 

Happy, healthy and hearty New Year, all. Let's crush 2016 and give it all we got. 

Cheers! x

A Blogger & Her Books

In the days of modern technology and the ever-evolving world of social media, in order to be recognized for one's creative endeavors one must also be as visible to the hungrily watching world as possible. There's a firm reason "models" are discovered via their Instagram platforms today rather than noshing at the mall as they were mere "ages" ago. Millennials and kids in modern times are easily bored and always on the hunt for the next best thing to mimic, admire, or hate-on. Satiating them with something to "share" and talk about on a regular basis is the #1 way to win "likes", followers, and gain traction for that lonely blog, along with everyone else these days. So, what's a thirty-something blogger to do in the age of advanced technology and over-saturated media feeds in the hopes that she eventually collects admiration from the hiring kind? Well, she best get snappin' and sharin', that's what. 

I've been following all of the most profitable fashion bloggers for a while now and sure, some of them consistently deliver lust-worthy street-style photos and stylized tablescapes to hover over. Meanwhile, a lot of them also provoke the eye-rolls with their excessive photo-shopping and forlorn, albeit bored glances; always looking in the same direction, trying to depict a paparazzi shot and never a staged photo-op. That's fine and good for said bloggers that have already made a name for themselves this way, long before I decided to show up. But for me, no. Can't I have more to my little Instagram pics than vapid look-at-me shots even though I definitely want you looking at me? What does one do with their face during these shoots, if the goal is to simply showcase one's everyday style leisurely. I want to be accepted into the smart girls club, not just the most fashionable cliques. And, to be perfectly honest, I don't care if anyone recognizes my face at all. I'd still need a trademark stance that brought focus to my intelligence while also focusing on my styling abilities. Was this even possible? Well, dammit, I'd make it so. 

I've been a writer since I can remember. However, I started getting paid to write--or at least took on assignments (plenty of times for free) more than six years ago. I didn't get to where I am today alone, I had many influences. From Nabokov to Steve Martin, Patti Smith to Grace Coddington. Great writers with great personal styles to match. I'd use these guys to help me adapt and develop my own street-style ensembles without having to give so much silly "face" all on my own. 

And that, my friends, is how "ClothesAndProse and #ReadsAndTweeds was born. 

See ya on the social side. 

~ x Robyn 

Mourning Fashion

I can't really pinpoint the exact moment when it all started to change. Surely it must have been in stages, an industry of this magnitude couldn't have morphed into an unidentifiable stranger overnight..right? What I do know to be true, is there are very few similarities between fashion today vs. yesterday. Nothing is the same. For these tragic extinctions, I blame three sources: The media, uneducated America, and Anna Wintour. 

I'll start in order of their appearances: Throughout the last decade the media has sensationalized and glorified pop culture and the stars at the center of it increasingly so as time moves forward. In the 90s, MTV gave us one of our first reality TV shows, "The Real World", catapulting regular unknowns into brief celebrities, changing television forever. TV networks and executive producers tapped heavily into this newfound obsession and within a few years, the popular network once dedicated to the best music coverage in the world was suddenly and strictly saturated with "real" teens going on dates, shopping, crying, heavily drinking, and even competing in games for money--sans a script, and very few jams. Now, I'm not going to lie. I was one of those "Laguna Beach" and "The Hills" cohorts too. Lauren Conrad was sharp though, and who can deny her ongoing fame and fortune today. She worked hard for it, and she never took her clothes off or engaged in any sort of raunch to get there. So, I respect and applaud Miss Conrad. Also, she's a rarity in this industry with a track record to prove it. Basically though, you get the jest. All of a sudden reality stars are replacing Oscar winning actors in "news" related headlines on all of the best magazines and newspapers, prompting a massive following of young "wannabes" willing to do any and everything for the same "easy" path to fame and fortune. It would only be a matter of time before these reality stars would start replacing the best supermodels on covetable magazine covers. Le sigh. 

Due to the glorification of reality TV shows and their "stars" in the media, more and more kids took notice. With the rise of social media, these pseudo-celebs are able to show off all their expensive toys, cars, houses, travels, designer fashions and everything in-between with their fans. They made it look so effortless. "Dumb it down for a little MTV show and you too can have a beautiful, rich life!" Teens today are skipping college entirely to become the next Instagram star, reality TV phenom, or YouTube host. Know what happens when more and more people stop seeking a decent education entirely? Basically, a slightly better dressed zombie apocalypse. Really. Le sighhh. 

Miss Wintour was the first fashion editor to ever put a celebrity other than a supermodel on the cover of her magazines. American Vogue featured The Clintons on a late 90s cover, and from there, practically everything in fashion magazines started to change. Up until this point, supermodels were the only real celebrities in fashion. They ruled the style world from top to bottom, and why shouldn't they. These were women of various ethnicities with gorgeous, hard bodies and equally beautiful minds to match. Supermodels of yesteryear stood for so much more than a pretty face. They were fierce not just in stature and pose, but in worldly issues, charities, causes and so much more. These women actually respectably worked their asses off to get to where they landed. Sure, most of them were initially discovered on the street or in a Mickey D's as a preteen, but they hit the ground running; the majority without skimping on an education in the process. Anna thought she'd shake things up by replacing them with other celebrities, actors and pop-singers, but a refreshing change is a far cry from total eradication, which is what eventually would come of the fashion magazine, as every other editor looked to her lead and followed suit. Nowadays, even the most popular new supermodels were once reality stars. Le weep. 

So, yes. Fashion isn't the enigmatic muse it once was. The industry today is built around a constant need for newer styles and collections, resulting in fast-fashion (i.e. cheap, mass retailers), perpetually burnt-out designers who are all dropping like flies (Alber Elbaz, Raf Simons, possibly Hedi Slimane, etc..), pamphlet-thin, vapid magazines which were once considered coffee table-worthy bibles, and "Kardashian-everything", which is fundamentally, the nail in the coffin where fashion lies as we know it. Whyyyyyy (fists in air..)

Will fashion ever be truly great again? One can always hope. But it's time those with power actually work to salvage what's even left.  

Killer Heels!

I was perusing the addictive world of Instagram the other morning, procrastinating getting out of bed to actually start my day, when a Brian Atwood post forced me to ponder his craft. The popular shoe designer is known for his sought after, super trendy footwear for the ladies that truly believe "the sex is in the heel". Atwood is tall, dark and handsome with an equally attractive partner and quite the celebrity on the A-list party scene with besties like famed stylist Rachel Zoe and actress Melissa McCarthy, whom he grew up with in LA. Therefore, while the shoe designer might not be wearing his own heels he certainly rubs elbows with the fashion-forward ladies that covet his killer styles. This prompts me to beg the question, does he realize just how high some of his HIGH heels are?? The photo that caused me to linger on his post for a minute, wincing in pain at the mere thought of walking even four steps in these particular killers was the very culprit for this post. Ow!! 

Before I come off as a total fashion prude, let's discuss, shall we. Okay, first off, it's an absolute fact that every woman looks better in a pair of heels. After slipping a good pair on they elongate the legs by adding height while dramatically slimming the thighs. High heels make any woman feel instantly sexier. The calves and buttocks also get a tremendous workout when worn regularly (looking at you, Jessica Simpson). But this fashion habit can also dramatically wreak havoc on the female form, causing podiatry pain for life, arthritis, nasty varicose veins, lower back and pelvic problems, and bunions that are so severely painful surgery is the only option. Hey, no one ever said being beautiful was an easy, painless job.

Longterm health consequences aside, my main beef with heels that are ridiculously high is what they can do to a woman's walk in them. Ever see a gal take an embarrassingly obvious forced stride in a pair of ankle-breakers while you look on in sheer horror, feeling both terribly bad for her but also dying inside at the hilarity of desperation? Like a baby giraffe taking its first, wobbly steps. Ladies, here's one serious rule about fashion--never, EVER let the shoes or anything else for that matter, wear you. Very few things are as sad as witnessing a woman trying her damnedest to make it a block in a pair of high heels that picked a fight with her before she even committed to their abuse. Don't be that victim. Save yourself the embarrassment and figure out what styles work best for your feet. If you plan on sitting all night, wear those killer heels and be proud. But if you already know you'll be standing and/or stepping more than lounging, don't slip those bad girls on without a little help. When the shoes are just too fine and worth every bit of the pain, add at least a little protection with Dr. Scholl's gel inserts made specifically for the highest heels. These secret weapons will grant you a couple of hours without the excruciating pain sans the additional padding, and no one will know you cheated. Also, a slight platform built into the shoe under the balls of the foot make every heel more tolerable. At first glance, a platform can seem daunting given its added height, but do not be fooled by the extra inches. That thick sole is your friend. Just be careful that platform isn't too narrow, or you may have an opposite problem--staying vertical.

For those of you ladies that were born to wear the highest heels with pure finesse, and can run in 6-inchers through the streets like a graceful ballerina a-la Carrie Bradshaw, well, I salute you. Be proud of your honed swagger on stilts. Just be good to your feet and back when off duty, for the older you get, the more you start to pay for your fashion choices or lack thereof. My mom used to try and persuade me to wear "support hose" during my early 20's when I worked high-end retail and schlepped hot plates in restaurants. She's cute, my mom. I kindly laughed away her advice since she only hoped to help me stave off ugly varicose veins in my future, and instead opted for foot cushions or cute and secretly comfy styles (these do exist!). Either way, know your body and what works best for you. No styles should be off limits if you're crushing on them, just know there's ways to make them work without regretting them later. 

In the meantime, I'm all for shoe designers that tap into making a seriously sexy heel super comfy, without losing its va-va-voom appeal. Hey, anything is possible! Especially in the name of fashion. x

Thrift To Gift

My personal love of thrift and vintage finds runs feverishly deep. Here's why: Truly the most original, eclectic and almost always responsibly-made pieces are found in secondhand stores--fact. For those that have yet to discover this glorious method of shopping I urge you to succumb to the gems that can only be found in thrift stores, purely for the sake of obtaining your best wardrobe yet. Ever wonder how the best-dressed-set pull off completely original looks day in and out? I'll give you a hint: It's mostly in part of carefully scouring through secondhand stores in search of a few spectacular pieces that will easily take a simple pair of jeans or offset those funky shoes by taking a rather simple ensemble to the next level--for cheap. When fashion fans talk about styling a "high-low" outfit, they usually mean pairing a Chloe skirt with a Zara or H&M jacket. But real fashionistas know there are even better options out there when searching for the right "low" for those "highs". Thrift/vintage pieces are far more unique and one-of-a-kind than those that can be found in any mass retail store. Also, things made prior to contemporary times have almost always been made responsibly and even locally--before the days of fast-fashion--which I can guarantee you won't find either of these positives hanging on a well-known, rushed sales rack. Clothing aside, many of these thrift shops sell home decor and eclectic accessory items perfect for transporting your abode or work space into chic little havens. With this idea in mind I suggest perusing your favorite or yet to be discovered vintage spots for inspired gifts this season.

Have a grandmother that collects delicate little vases or jewelry boxes? Estate sales, flea markets, yard sales and the amazing Housing Works have endless offerings such as these. Always unsure of what to buy your fashion-forward bestie with an impressive collection of Chanel and Louis Vuitton bags, because you're convinced you can't afford to really please her/him? Beacon's Closet and many other specialty vintage stores stock up on gently used designer pieces at a fraction of the retail cost. Trust me, said bestie will not care that it's secondhand. If they are a serious fashion maven they will probably be more excited that is, simply because it's vintage which means exclusive and/or rare. If I were the receiving friend I'd love you more than french fries and champagne. Simply because of your pristine effort and especially if you gift me with vintage Yves Saint Laurent.. 

So, give thrift a chance. You'll save so many dollars and gain so many "likes" while you collect the coolest, rarest, and actually built-to-last goodies.  

Naked Nation

Does anyone else miss clothed bodies as much as I? Particularly on celebs and red carpets? For the record, I'm fully in support of the female form, and honestly believe that women's bodies should be worshipped, admired, and shown off. But is skin too in? In the 70s, Cher donned glittery barely-there ensembles by Bob Mackie to live black-tie, formal events such as The Oscars and looked damn good doing it. Streisand even won an Academy Award in a see-through suit designed by Arnold Scaasi around the same time period during more conservative times and did so with applause. Fast-forward to modern times and nakedness is literally everywhere today. What was once considered to be a red carpet rarity where stars like Rose McGowan used the appropriate platform of MTV's VMAs to wear mere mesh and strings, bum fully exposed, and it was shockingly awe-inspired then, in 1998. Now, nudity is around every corner, from Instagram to Snapchat, red carpets to talk shows. Gone are the days of shock and awe, actually buttoning up is more surprising and debatably--even more courageous. When will undressing to get dressed become boring--or will it? And are designers today just wholly uninspired by this trend? 

Not long ago, mystery was the ultimate sexy accessory. Marlene Dietrich oozed sex appeal in masculine three piece suits otherwise strictly worn by men of her time. Some of the most modest looks for women in the 50s consisted of sweaters and blouses that still revealed the striking curves of the bust, neckline and waist, without actually revealing a thing. Sure, Marilyn, Cher, and even Streisand had their memorable nude moments, but again, these were surprises; still considered taboos, and anything unexpected evokes a bit of applause--especially in Hollywood. Prudishness aside, can clothes actually make a comeback? Designer Carolina Herrera and others have been vocal about how uninspired fashion is today due to the lack of fabrics being worn on the most popular bodies around town. JLo is 46 yrs old and doesn't look a day over 25, so the star with the banging body full of sharp curves has every right to display her assets any chance she gets. I can certainly understand feeling far sexier in a bustier over jeans and a t-shirt, to each their own. But then you have the likes of Miley Cyrus, who's barely covering her nipples (if at all) and lady parts (again, if at all) from the stage to probably even shopping for milk. Imagine the shock and awe her followers would experience if she showed up anywhere in a Dior gown. Now that would be head-turning. 

I miss clothes. I mean, regular simpletons like me only wish to afford couture. I'd don a hand-beaded ball skirt that took 116 hours to make everyday to the C train and back! These celebs can purchase any clothing item they wish, yet they choose to go naked. Oh the irony. I just wish their choices (or lack thereof) were more for a beautiful statement than just for a look-at-my-smooth-ass-it's-still-standing motive for attention. There's feminism and then there's just the mundane boredom of, "oh look, Rihanna is naked again. Awesome." I mean, at this rate I've seen Kim K's breasts more than my own. I'm bored! Bring back gorgeous clothing that's a work of art! Give the best designers and stylists hope again! Give me and my fellow fashion lovers something to talk about again. Aren't you starlets cold? We've seen your butts, now let's see that gorgeous derriere in a pair of vintage Levi's! Le sigh. Fashion nostalgia is alive and well today, folks. 

#getdressed 

Fast Faux Pas

I really care about fashion. This includes the entire world it influences, along with every thing and everyone in it. Even if you're Joe Blow living in middle America with zero thoughts about this industry and a complete lack of style to show for it, fashion still affects you somehow, someway. This is because there's at least one person in your life that actually does care about what they wear and also because everyone has to get dressed eventually which means occasionally shopping for clothes. Choosing where we shop is as important as protecting our body parts from everyday elements produced by our environments. Unless you live on a deserted island, getting dressed each morning in whatever garments we have lying around is a daily ritual every one of us practices on a daily basis around the world, especially for those of us living in advanced countries. In America today, we have multiple mass retailers at our disposal on every busy corner in all major cities offering "fast fashion" at affordable prices. What most people across the country don't realize however, is that the majority of these attainable fashion pieces were made in careless environments by barely able hands for mere pennies. Granted, most of these consumers also don't care. As long as they continue to have access to affordable "high fashion" they are good. Do not bother them with the details of how that maxi dress made it on the rack to be sold for only $15. Just get out of their way because they have a bbq to attend and need to look cute without breaking the bank. I get it. I really do. I, too, used to be that big time bargain shopper, hitting Forever21, H&M and Zara weekly to pad my closet with the latest trends on a freelancer's budget without a care in the world if my new purchases pilled or unravelled after a single wash. I wanted to look fashionable, dammit, and I only wish I could have afforded the better designer stuff.

Then I grew up, met high quality garments I could still afford and, well, everything changed. 

If you care about fashion even a little bit, if you search for quality and think that you deserve it (hint: you do), a little research on the manufacturing and production side to the industry can't hurt. I recently watched the documentary "The True Cost", available on Netflix, and it really changed the way I see mass retailers today. Over the years easy access, affordability, and high demand from mostly American consumers has only increased clothing and accessory production resulting in "fast fashion"--clothing that is made swiftly and cheaply in mass quantities and sold at mass retailers for a bargain. Quality garments really don't need to be so irresponsibly produced to still be affordable, however. I might not have the platform just yet to really make a difference in the world of fast-fashion, but I intend to get there eventually. In the mean time, I've stopped supporting these guilty retailers by not shopping in their stores, no matter how good the merchandise appears to be nor the sales. Not that Zara would ever notice my absence. The CEO surpassed Bill Gates in acquired financials for a hot second recently; ironic given the fact that the company's garment makers make a handful of change a day and live in mostly third world countries. Still, I must do my part if I'm going to continue to talk about this industry like I know something. 

A chef that loves to cook and feed people doesn't put out cuisine poorly made in a rundown, unclean kitchen and charge those guests to eat it anyway. Fashion lovers and supporters don't have to wear controversial clothing all in the name of "affordable style". If you're truly passionate about something, make it count by supporting it entirely.