battle jumpsuit

A Lady: So I was standing in the hall talking to my boss and one of the (sweet, foreign, older, non-creepy) management dudes walked by, turned around, walked back, and said: “You look like a movie star. Every day!” and my boss was all, “I KNOW, RIGHT?” Sparkly purple jumpsuit (it has the word “suit” in it, ergo it’s totally work appropriate) win!

D: If you are wearing that lurex jumpsuit to work...


D: Giiiiiiiiiiiiirl. I can't even. Also, that’s faulty logic: by this token, a swimsuit would be work-appropriate.

A Lady: Erm…I have worn a swimsuit to work before. WITH A SKIRT. AS A BODYSUIT.


A Lady: I’m a rebel. A rebel with a sartorial cause. Silent and mysterious at my desk.

D: You are wearing sparkly lurex. Ain't nothing silent about that.

A Lady: I have brainwashed everyone. Chicago's next.

D: Goddammit. This is why I live in the Midwest: to avoid mobs of Jumpsuit People.

A Lady: I'm like the Jumpsuit Zombie.

D: Instead of saying BRAAAAAAINS you mutter ONESIIIIIIIE threateningly. How do you kill a jumpsuit zombie? Do you repel them by creating a self-defense line out of, like, sensible shoes? Birkenstocks?

A Lady: You can't kill a jumpsuit zombie. It's what makes us terrifying and our reign inevitable.

D: I still cannot fathom a way in which I could look good in a jumpsuit. Doesn't exist.

A Lady: See? It's working. Now it's no longer "it's gross," but rather "I wouldn't look good in one." Baby steps. Baby zombies.

D: I’m certain you look good in it. I do not doubt that. But I think that it sends a dangerous message to the rest of America that they, too, should wear a jumpsuit.


D: Ok, I am all for SPARKLES.

A Lady: Shiny shiny. I am way more happy with this than anticipated.

D: Ha, you know how to make my brain go "shiny ooh.”

A Lady: I'm a master manipulator

D: Bastard. C'mon, be nice. I did just get HIT BY A CAR.

A Lady: Fine, you get a pass on this, but ONLY because a truck hit you and ran over your bike.

D: So every time I want to win an argument with you I need to have a near-death experience?

A Lady: Yup. This totally works for me.

D: I may try to avoid being shot at just for the sake of argument-winning, though. But maybe if we start to discuss other topics of contention I would be amenable to a slight stabbing. Like, just one clean wound. (So I'm headed to the po-po in a few to file my police report for the accident, and though I could wear the jeans hanging from my doorknob, oh no. I'mma wear cutoffs just so the full array of bruises is on display for sympathy purposes.)

A Lady: (Strategic Dressing: not just for dates.)



D: Step one: spend too much money on iPhone.
Step two: buy this iPhone case.

A Lady: It's always Halloween in your world, isn't it?

D: You say that as if that is not a great thing. And ahem, do note that it's not sparkly. It's as restrained and conservative as peacock feathers can be!


it’s not a problem, it’s a hobby

D: I am hoarding this Sephora gel stain. I fear they will discontinue it. Please tell me you’re hoarding things too.
(Um also: those thin Uniqlo heat-tech knee socks in all the shades of grey. They are the best things.)

A Lady: Oh yes. I hoard spices I'll never use. So much saffron.


A Lady: EXACTLY. One never knows.
Mostly I hoard vintage clothes.

D: Silk scarves.

A Lady: Ooh, yes.

D: Nivea lip balm sticks.

A Lady: Yes! I still have all this shit I never wear. And flannel sheets I don't need any longer.

D: Inexplicably: pearl necklaces. I own four. I wear zero.

A Lady: ME TOO. I even have a long grey pearl necklace. I never, ever wear it. Pearls just look wrong on me.

D: Basically we hoard pretty/tasty things.

A Lady: Even though we never ever ever use them.

D: If we have to play dress-up post-apocalype, we are SET.

A Lady: You know, some people would actually use all this crap.

D: Maybe. Then again, those people probably hoard practical things like batteries, flashlights, uh.... hand-cranked radios? The emergency survivalist things?

A Lady: Meh. Unnecessary, all of them. This is what sparkly jewelry is for!

D: Yes. If it's shiny enough, it can be used as a light source.

A Lady: No batteries required.

D: I also have a huge shelf of pickled vegetables, so in the event of total worldwide calamity, I can garnish my bloody mary while the world burns.

A Lady: We are so ready. We're intentional hoarders, ergo, it's not a disease.

D: Clearly our priorities are correct.

A Lady: Oh, we should totally hoard some smoked oysters or something, too, or else the hangover will be terrible.

D: Smoked oysters and white cheddar cheez-its!

A Lady: Ooh and reduced fat (read: saltier) wheat thins!

D: I love that shit.


D: Perhaps we should just invest in a salt lick.

A Lady: And baked cheetos!
(Oh god, I'm going to die so young.)

D: OMFG yes baked cheetos YES.
(Die young, leave a good-looking corpse)

A Lady: All the preservatives will preserve me too?

D: Well, if we self-embalm ourselves with salt and booze....

A Lady: Exactly.

D: It's scientifically sound.



Current reading lists

D: Let's see. Reading The Anthology of Rap, the whole Sherlock Holmes collection, The Club Dumas, and just finished The Pale King.

A Lady: I need to re-read Anthony Easthope's Poetry as Discourse.

D: ...

A Lady: Still in school. Forever in school.


hazardous cargo

D: Okay, it’s been over a month. I think I can talk about The Cargo Shorts Incident without PTSD.

The (heh) short of it: some time back (like early June?) I ran into PB in the bike lane en route to work. Immediate reaction: revulsion.The cause: his ensemble of a novelty-logo t-shirt, athletic shoes sans socks, and CARGO SHORTS. Not Jack Spade-esque slim cargos, oh no. These were the worst offering of Abercrombie & Fitch circa, like, 2001. The kind of cargo shorts with pockets upon pockets. So very puffy. I think a built-in webbed belt was involved. These were the shorts you'd wear if you were a college sophomore playing frisbee golf on the quad with your fraternity brothers.

A Lady: Oh god I lost it at logo-tee. A grown man wearing cargo shorts? I mean, sure, I think the Current/Elliott skinny cargo pants for ladies are kinda cute but ON A DUDE? AND SHORTS? I can’t.

At least he was wearing a bike helmet?

A Lady: This confirms my belief that you place too much emphasis on the presence of a bike helmet when evaluating people.

D: I went to work and immediately bitched about the outfit to a sympathetic coworker, who pointed out that perhaps since it is summer and he was biking to work at his fancy not-at-all-unlikely-to-require-a-suit-occasionally job, he was probably going to shower at the office gym and change into Real Person Clothes there. I grudgingly accepted this idea, but oh man, I did not entirely trust the hypothesis.

A Lady: Had you bitched to me instead you KNOW I would not have let that slide or told you to give him the benefit of the doubt. Which is probably why you bitched to the coworker instead. Also, if I can bike in a pencil skirt and four-inch heels, he can bike in pants.

D: Heh. So, the next day we had date plans to see a play and have dinner. Note that I hauled ass home after work to change from work clothes (which would have been entirely serviceable, but not particularly date-worthy) into something more going-on-a-date appropriate.


I could. not. deal.

Post-show, post-dinner (what, like I was going to bail on a free dinner?) we start biking homeward. I turn off a few blocks early like SEE YOU NEVER, GOOD NIGHT.

I have not seen him since.

A Lady: Okay, remind me that we need to have a Serious Conversation about the relative value of a free meal, and how lentils can be just as delicious and will cost you $0.50 and no self-respect. Standards!

D: I have standards! Occasionally low and situationally-flexible as they may be: STANDARDS. And puffy, excessively-pocketed cargo shorts do not meet them.

AND THE THING IS: HE SAW ME SEE HIM the day before in that same ensemble. COME ON DUDE. Repeating sweaty biking clothes for a date the next night, no matter the contents of that outfit, is just fucking unacceptable. It's a symptom of a total lack of effort. If you cannot be bothered to change your goddamn clothes into something that does not suggest you might go home, get stoned, and listen to Phish, then I CANNOT BE BOTHERED TO GO OUT WITH YOU EVER AGAIN.

Fuck that. I might not always be immaculately pulled-together and turned out, but for the fuck of shit, I make an EFFORT. Not always a successful effort, but come on.




A Lady: WTF. Seriously. I take a big purse, and that’s it. Fin. (I mean, hell, I take a big purse and a small duffel for a WEEK. IN THE WINTER.)

D: AMEN. I mean, Jesus Christ on toast, I am in the midst of the travel marathon for work at the moment, and this is absurd. WHO CHECKS LUGGAGE FOR A THREE-DAY TRIP? I had to do slightly more than a big purse (although heeeey, that leather bag you made me is so best for work travel needs) since this is a Professional Fancy Times travel itinerary, but for REAL.

A Lady: Do we even have to get into why this is absurd? DO NOT CHECK LUGGAGE. Wear the big things, pack the small ones. Wear: jeans, tank, cardi, sandals. Pack: shorts, tank, dress, swimsuit, heels, underthings. Pack makeup, one hair product, travel brush. Jesus. Or leave Jesus, because then you might have to check.

D: Plus, if we're 90% water or whatever, Jesus will probably violate the 3 oz. or less of liquids rule.

And if you're traveling anywhere citified, you know that you're probably going to end up buying a significant amount of clothes there, which means you’ll pack for like 2-3 days less than the duration of the trip. And NO ONE needs to bring the entire makeup bag, c'mon. Especially if the vacation is beachy. You're going to end up wearing waterproof mascara, sunscreen, maaaaaaaaaybe powder for non-swimming times, and some sort of tinted lip balm with SPF. Maybe lipstick for evening.

I mean, I packed for 10 days in Peru in a single carry-on. And I didn't end up wearing half of what I brought, either. (Sum total of makeup packed for Peru: mascara, powder, tinted lip balm. I ended up wearing only the tinted lip balm. Shoulda thrown in another tube of sunscreen, though.)

A Lady: And’s let’s not even get into when you’re going home/the S.O.’s home and you’ll have easy washing machine access. In those cases, it’s entirely appropriate to take a week’s worth of clothes—again, a small duffel—and know that you’ll have the ability to wash all your basics. Also, no one at home will care if you wear the same thing three days in a row. (Or at least, they might care, but they definitely won’t comment.) Long weekends, I seriously just take a big purse/small overnight bag and fill it. Oh, also: roll your clothes! Fewer wrinkles, less space. Oh, and a foldable (!) lint brush is good. Or one of those mini travel rollers.

D: Ok, current contents of my work-travel bag. This is for three days, and I really should’ve pared it down better (the flats were unnecessary. Shoulda just done heels + sandals), but I did have to be ready for a fancy work thing (hence the lint roller).

Shift dress (nonwrinkle!), tank top (didn’t even wear this), multivitamins, stripey shirt, cutoffs, iPod, laptop + sleeve, professional-like black dress, book, business cards, work documents, huge tangle of cords and makeup bag. All inside the leather duffel. The purse got folded up and put inside the duffel and held travel docs, phones, wallet, sunglasses, etc. Shoes: black heels for work, flats worn on plane, sandals worn everywhere else. One bag to schlep. And this felt like WAY too much for three days, honestly. God, wish I’d taken a photo of my carry-on for Peru. I brought three swimsuits (because I like options?) and ended up wearing only about 80% of what I packed. For ten days. In a carry-on.

A Lady: Oh, def. When I went to Mexico, ditto the three swimsuits—and that was just for five nights—two sundresses, two shorts, wore jeans and a sweater, a couple light linen beach shirts and tanks, flat sandals, and a pair of heels for dinner. Wham, bam, you’re welcome. I seriously think my makeup bag was as big as the rest of the stuff I packed. And amen to slipping the purse into your bigger bag. That’s also a way to get around the one carryon/one personal item role: take a carryon, a big purse/small duffel, and put your regular purse in the latter. Take THAT, airlines.


you could look better

D: Haaaalp. I am pouty today. Pouty and poorly-put-together.

I'm going to see "Bill Cunningham New York" today after work, and there's an opening reception beforehand, and I knooooooooow that I'm going to be stupidly hurt that no one takes my photo at the event. I won't have time to go home and change into something splendid between work and movie, so I am stuck wearing what I wore to work. And yes, I tried to step up my outfit game a bit today in anticipation of this, but I am so wholly dissatisfied with how it looks and UGH.

The outfit: slim-but-not-skinny dark-wash jeans, cuffed; bright magenta socks with vintage brown mary janes; flowy cream t-shirt; Rodarte for Target nude lace cardigan; bunches of necklaces. And yet as good an idea as it seemed this morning at 7:45, I now feel like it looks sloppy and generally crap.

A Lady: Okay, outfit. Get rid of the cuffs, tuck the hem under instead. Socks/ankle strap/cuff is too much.
The cardi...have you tried pushing up the sleeves? Also, flowy t-shirt: tuck the front in.

D: Done and done. Shirt will be tucked, cardi sleeves already pushed (always), hems tucked.

A Lady: Also, were I you, I'd ditch the socks. Magenta/nude/white/brown seems a bit intense.

D: I will test this out in front of the work bathroom mirror.

A Lady: Do it. Now. It might help your mood.

D: "Hello, coworkers! No, I am not prancing in the bathroom for any particular reason."

A Lady: Run to the bathroom for five minutes, adjust ensemble, and see if this helps. Then report back.

D: Will do.

Okay! The shirt looks wonky tucked in, but I adjusted the pants hems and took off the socks, and I look far better. This is amazing. I was thinking that the socks + heels were the best part of the ensemble, but I was so wrong.

A Lady: Heh. Even working blind, I'm here for you.

D: You are an Outfit Whisperer.

Well, at least when I bike up to the theater, I’ll have the glowy cheeks thing going on from the ride. And who doesn't love a lady on a bike? No one, that's who.

A Lady: Exactly. PS you'll love the Cunningham doc.


A Lady: Duh. Dude, I saw it in April. It's amazing. Insane and amazing. You'll want to give him lots of hugs.

Postscript: I left work too late to make it to the pre-movie fashiony-type-people party, but enjoyed my dinner of movie theater popcorn and a giant Diet Coke during the film. And of course it’s brilliant, but I am very concerned that Bill Cunningham rides his bike without a helmet.


she's crafty


Hence the facial expression of total joy and amazement, obviously.

A Lady blogged it far better over here, but the short version is that she just saved me like $300, I have a gorgeous new leather bag, and my coworkers were amused by the reverberating squeeees of joy coming out of my office this afternoon when the bag arrived. I think the little dance I did down the hall (there may have been skipping involved) was more befuddling than amusing, but that's not the point.



A Lady: Fuck. Off.


A Lady: Barneys. Warehouse. Sale. 70% off the discounted price.



OH MY SWEET JESUS. If I were standing up, I’d have fallen over.

I am just going to make incoherent allcaps noises over here.

Well, I bought $30 worth of Korres lip gloss today so.... WAIT THAT'S NOT THE SAME LEVEL OF GREATNESS AT ALL.

A Lady: Ahahaha. Fuckoff heels! I has them!


D: Ahem, shouldn't I be the one sighing with envy here?

A Lady: Oh, right.

D: So, as per request: the etymology of "fuckoff heels." It is pretty clearly Belgian Waffle, in my brain, but I think it's one of those concepts that most women will immediately understand.

A Lady: See, I've been using it for tech things for years. Such as: "fuckoff stereo."

D: Aha, yes.

A Lady: "A huge fuckoff tv.”

D: "That was one spectacular fuckoff sandwich."

A Lady: Ehhhhhhhh. I object!

D: Cmon. You know that I, of all people, will say "fuckoff sandwich" in the most highly approving manner.

A Lady: There has to be intent to intimidate/proclaim awesomeness.

D: Well, maybe the fuckoff sandwich is HUGE and also you are REALLY hungry.

A Lady: But is it putting other people in awe? I feel like that's the necessary bit. And I have never been in awe of a sandwich. (Have I told you about the pancake-eating competition?)

D: (Ooh no do tell.)

A Lady: (Everyone at brunch, dudes included, ordered the triple stack of plate-sized pancakes.)

D: (Ow Jesus my stomach hurts at the thought.)

A Lady: (The dudes were idiots and got chocolate chips. My friend and I got fruit ones. So it was a race. And I won, hands down. Ate the whole plate in, um, 90 seconds.)

D: (GODDAMN. I am impressed. And a little horrified, so basically DOUBLY impressed.)

A Lady: So you see why the idea of fuckoff food is like, eh.

D: Well, you're you. Meanwhile, I have been in serious awe of food on many occasions. Now I am on a quest for a fuckoff sandwich for illustratory purposes.

A Lady: Ahem, D, back to fuckoff heels. They usually involve some kind of a platform, yes?

D: Note: I think the fuckoff heel is for other ladies.

A Lady: Really? Oh, I wear them for both: dudes, ladies, you can all fuck off.

D: Well, how many straight dudes do you know that would look at the shoe and appreciate it as anything other than "pretty!"?

I mean, everyone can fuck off, but ladies Get It.

A Lady: Naw, I mean, they're sexy shoes, but they make you tall and you can stomp in them.

D: Ah, right-o. So fuckoff heels are 1) tall, and 2) stompy.

I don't feel that a plain black leather pump, no matter how tall it makes me, is really a fuckoff heel, though. Like, if it's pretty much unquestionably work-appropriate, it's not fuckoff.

A Lady: Also, the black pump can tip into fuckme shoes pretty easily.

I wonder if the difference resides in the platform. I feel like if it's sold at Anthropologie, it's not gonna be fuckoff, knaamean?

D: Mmhmm.

A Lady: They have to be stompy.

D: Do they have to be? Or is that just a common thing? Because sometimes there's a difference between a stomp and strut shoe, but I think I have strut shoes that are fuckoff.

A Lady: Hmm. Ok, my verb of choice might be stalk. Catwalk-style.

D: Oooooooh, yes.

Can wedges be fuckoff?

I'd think a fuckoff wedge would have to be 5", or it would just go clunky.

A Lady: There has to be some kind of angle or a tapering.

D: …something that looks just slightly precarious, which makes it all the more fuckoff that one is stalking in them.

A Lady: Exactly.

D: Under no circumstances can one of those pencil-thin stilettos be a fuckoff heel. You cannot stalk in those heels. You can slink, maybe, but not stalk.

A Lady: Yeah, those are totally fuckme territory.

D: Yup. A fuckme heel is meant for minimal walking, yet is also seen in the wild at ill-advised dance clubs. Poor choice, ladies!

A Lady: That's why they can't dance!

D: Also most of the population at those clubs is not known for good decision-making.



D: Why yes, I did get tipsy this month at an art opening & decide to go see "Burlesque" by myself.

A Lady: I can't believe you went to “Burlesque” drunk, alone.
I mean, I can.
But: amazing.

D: Ahemmm. Not drunk, tipsy. The art opening ran out of booze before I could get properly drunk.

A Lady: Was it everything I'm hoping it will be?

D: If you hope for a bastard child of “Showgirls”, “Cabaret”, and “Moulin Rouge”.... then YES.
Sequins, bad makeup, tits, and hilarity.

A Lady: OMFG. I need that in my life.

D: I still cannot believe that Alan Cumming was convinced to do that movie.
Also, Cher's face Does. Not. Move.

A Lady: Wait wait wait. Cumming's in it?


A Lady: Must. See. Now.

D: I believe his first line is "I should wash your mouth out with Jaegermeister for that.”

A Lady: Holy shit, how did I not know that?

D: Best-kept secret of that movie, I swear.
Oh! And Cher has a line like "Did you tell him about the tattoo on my ass?"

Also all the girls in the movie who are not Xtina/Veronica Mars (she’s the Gina Gershon) look like Jessica Simpson.

Dude, this movie was so worth the $4.


socially clumsy

I can't argue with A Lady on this. She notes:

"D, your dating life is like the social interaction equivalent of a montage of people walking into doors."


book club

It's worth noting that the Trollops' current reading list is Edna Woolman Chase's Always in Vogue and Jay-Z's Decoded. We're well-rounded.


trollops' holiday woes

Email from A Lady:

"I realized today you and I have opposite approaches to overeating: you put on clothing that works around* the offending body part. I put on clothing that I fit into ten pounds ago in order to remind myself to not eat everything in sight. BUT there is strategy involved: jeans where the waistband is so tight that I’m desperately uncomfortable and in a little pain, but a big sweater over it so as not to offend anyone.

It’s like a hair shirt in service of vanity instead of divinity."

*... that is to say that I'm currently wearing the hell out of my loose shift dresses and the two pairs of pants that button.