And okay, I splurged on the shoes, too. And, um, the bag. As a working writer, 90% of my clothes are the kind of thing you wear to clean out the garage. The other 10% of my wardrobe looks more like this. And how did I earn this hot little number?
See for yourself. This is a shot of me at a booksigning–yes, a booksigning–at a military base in Florida. The day was organized around an air show, and there were tables and booths set up in the hangars along the air strip. I found myself sharing a table with an army ranger and his pet, Roxanne the Snake. The ranger wanted me to hold his snake. I said no. I hid behind my tower of unsold books. He insisted, so I told him I would only hold his snake if I sold all these books. (I never sell out at a signing.) But people kept buying books, and I was down to 3, so the ranger bought them all and I had to make good on my promise to hold his snake.
Anyway. Here I am with Roxanne, smiling through my inner silent screams of horror, earning any damn dress I want. For life. So there:
Note that this shot is slightly blurry. Why? Because Mr. Manly-Man Husband of Mine was standing about Note that this shot is slightly blurry. Why? Because Mr. Manly-Man Husband of Mine was standing about fifty yards away, too afraid to come closer, so this is with the zoom lens. And, I admit, I was not exactly holding still.
Diane von Furstenberg has to get her inspiration somewhere, right?
So…where are your favorite places to shop on the Internet? My bookmarks point me to http://www.net-a-porter.com/, http://www.anthropologie.com/, http://www.smartbargains.com/, and http://www.endless.com/. Shop on!
The Charm School – May 1, 2008
Special bonus material–I spotted this on Story Broads:
I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what’s underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I’m the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment
from its hanger like I’m choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,
it’ll be the damned
dress they bury me in.