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Saturday 23 December 2017

How to figure skate over 55

A Christmas Story of Triumph

O and I finally put up our tree last week after we fired up the crane in the garage. Oh humble Christmas tree, several stories high, with lovely beige(?!)-wrapped gifts underneath, except, oh? What's that? Oh my, a little something something from Santa?!

GAAAAA!!!! Just what I wanted! Figure skates! My evil rival, Miz Bagg, stole my last pair four years ago in the middle of the Milky Way Figure Skating Championships, so I was forced to compete without them. I still won of course. No one does a Besti squat or Biellmann spin better than me, on ice, shaken, not stirred. Give me a couple of bottles, not of milk, and I'll give you an eyeful of swizzle and twizzle too. (real skating terms)

As for the skates, I had to shake my head at these new high-tech wonders. The blades list all the added vitamins and minerals, and include a calorie count which fluctuates depending on whether or not you wear them with milk. That's a bit much, don't you think? Milk?! Cocoa, yeah, I could understand, or coffee even. And let's not forget that cold weather burns calories 3.8 times faster than warm weather. It's an unproven fact. All too confusing.

Inside was tucked a little note from the Intergalactic Figure Skating Championships with an urgent invitation to their meet yesterday in Vancouver. Why not?, I thought. Having eliminated all my former competition, I would be the only entrant.

All the usual judges were there, some I knew intimately having schlepped with them during past games. Mars, hot-headed and annoying, Venus, constantly sobbing and fainting, Pluto, way out there, reminds me of a politician, and of course Uranus, working overtime, always bending over. The only non-Milky Way was Planet X, a cool artist creature in a silver lamé onesie.

There was no ice so I skated on the waters of Burrard Inlet, such is my talent. The move above is a Mel original. And so is the one below. And I threw in some sow-cows. When I was done my routine, an Orca whale gave me a lift back to shore. While daintily gripping its dorsal fin, I reclined like a mermaid in readiness for the media waiting on the pier.

I think my solo program went really well. Especially since I was the only competitor. But it was time to move to pairs. My partner, Chucky, was a bit wooden and couldn't keep his mouth shut. At least he was dressed very on trend, had silver hair, and sported a long beard thingy. 

But we shared a special energy. (Actually, he bit me after this shot. I slapped him with my flowers.)

And at the end of my program, I anxiously awaited news of my scores. I'm glad I had white duct tape to keep my laces tied!!

And there I am at the podium. A perfect score - AGAIN. My blades got a bit mangled, but that's what happens when you're really, really good.

Drinks are on the house! Cheers everyone.

A flubbed Lutz is called a Flutz (true). A klutz is just a klutz (true). And I never schlepped with the judges. I didn't have to - schtellar talent schpeaks for itschelf. Oof.


About the coat, early '60s faux fur, ultra warm, swing cut, by Robert Meshekoff. I always want to figure skate when I wear it. Champagne white, not as yellow or as white as some of those photos.

This post includes bits of revised content from an earlier post. The photo session with the Christmas trees was outside a very popular downtown eatery, Glowbal. I had to navigate around the trendy crowds going in and out, not easily done in skates which require delicate shuffling action no matter how high-tech they are. I'm thankful that the management didn't shoo me away. Clearly they could see I was a pro athlete.

I'm linking this skating adventure up to Catherine's #iwillwearwhatilike at Not Dressed as Lamb.

I hope you all get a break from outside annoyances during the holidays. See you soon. xo

Have you got any clothes that make you want to figure skate?! Pole vault? Do long jump? Shot put?

Sunday 10 December 2017

Another audition - it's almost like being famous! Almost, not quite.

Some bigwigs called and asked me to "be myself." I failed. Heh.

Yip, the casting agency called again. Gaaa! If this keeps up, I'll have to get a real DAYTIMER, not an electronic thingy because they are not real enough. I need pages that can be dripped on and ripped. And a Bic pen (do they still make them?) because, after all, I would be an artiste, not some executive in a skyscraper boardroom like MizBagg.

As a reminder to you, this is my third TV commercial audition since May 2016. Things are going super fast! - 11 months between the first (here) and second (here), and only 8 months until this latest one. Stop the Earth - everything is a blur!

Strolling through Ackery's Alley. Read more about it here.

When I got there, the waiting room was packed with people "being themselves" to the max. My hair was high, my hopes were high, and my anxiety was at an all-time low as these things go. I knew it would end badly. Heh. What I wore is here.

This time it was just me and the casting director in the audition room, with a bank of computers and cameras, and I don't know what else. First I had to stand in front of the camera and state my name and height. Thank goodness I knew those lines. Then I had to sit in a comfy leather chair in the stage area and talk about myself. And I did... And I did... CUT!!!

But then I had to dance. Oh, dear reader, I don't dance; I do Martha Graham interpretive movements, lunges and feints and crawls. I preemptively knew I was done for. For my song - we got to pick our own - I chose Rock Lobster by the B52s. It was that or Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries. Hey, they said to "be yourself."

I pogo-ed, I hopped and spun, I churned, stumbled, ran into furniture, got really dizzy, light-headed even with all that quick up-and-down bending, and I wagged my tongue during the weird bits of the song. Fer real. No spit flew, though, which I was thankful for - there are no wiper blades on the camera and the director was not wearing a bib. It would have been rude.

I was channeling comedian Maria Bamford, who is currently starring in the Netflix series, Lady Dynamite. She is very unconventional in public, scripted and unscripted too (she makes no secret of her struggles with mental illness), and nobody blinks an eye. If you are delicate, don't watch it. Suzanne introduce me to her.

Towards the end of my exertions, when I finally remembered I was being filmed, I caught sight of the director, who was waving his arms back and forth over his head, like at some of those religious meetings you see, which made me think, hmm, do I do a 360 and go all tabernacle or keep my Martha G funk on? You guessed it. Go Martha G! Go Maria B!

At the end, just as I was leaving, the casting agent said, Wow, I, uh, felt your energy. I panted back, exhausted, "That was fun, thanks." Done. Really done. I have to say, the casting agent is a super-cool guy. I'm getting to know him now, and vice versa, which means maybe I can hold off on my big daytimer purchase and Bic pen.

Of course, no call back. My "me" was too me, or not the "me" the client was looking for. The shoot will be in a tropical country abroad for $$$. For a drink company. Of course I had to try though. And test out my new Maria Bamford-as-confidence-booster technique. It worked. High five! And if I'm called again, yeah, I'll go. Why not?

I found the commercial from the last audition I went to HERE. I had to say the line, "And the scary things eat you," awesome line. I thought I did it well, well, not tooooo badly, but in the final version it is delivered by a super-cute little girl. Well, I ask you, how can I compete with that? Hahaha. I love the ad, though.

I'll link up to Patti at Visible Monday, Not Dead Yet Style, and;
Catherine at #iwillwearwhatilike, Not Dressed as Lamb.

On a final note, they asked when I signed in for this audition whether I could open a bottle using any body parts. I wonder how they would have responded if I said I can do it with my sphincter on a bad day. Heh. I haven't tried - won't. Have you!? Let me know in the comments (she writes, trying to keep a straight face).

Monday 4 December 2017

Should I sing it or wear it?

"Je suis amoureuse." I could wear that on my chest on a tank dress or I could stagger around, slightly hunched over, croaking that 1970s classic song "Je t'aime" with Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin, scaring tourists and locals alike. Aren't you glad I chose the former? Aren't you!? Heh. 

Normally I don't like graphics on clothing unless I put them there myself. But this one is so, well, annoying/compelling that I couldn't help myself when I saw it on the $5 rack at My Sister's Closet a few months ago.

I'm keeping this blog post short and sweet. What do they say - absence makes the heart grow fonder? For whom? When I'm away for a while, yes, it's nice to come back.

And miracle of the week - you know how you can be weighted down by niggling worries and then somehow, out of nowhere, your brain connects tiny thoughts that have been pinballing around your brain for ages and suddenly, poof, reset, calm is restored. A profound Aha! moment. Like finding a four-leaf clover in a field of dandelions, not that my brain is a dandelion field. Perhaps sweet corn.

Life has indeed been busy here. Mad Hatter time workwise - not in a bad way. This is the fastest blog post I've put together in a long, long time. But better short than not at all.

Great big bear hugs!!

I'll link up to Patti's Visible Monday at Not Dead Yet Style and Catherine's #iwillwearwhatilike at Not Dressed as Lamb. See you there!

P.S. Make sure you catch Suzanne's latest post - HILARIOUS in a tragic way. I can relate. Let's make this viral!!!!

Saturday 18 November 2017

How to wear fitted onesies over 55 for high adventure

Give me a purple or red fitted onesie and I'm on, hunting down baddies with headquarters in remote island volcanoes or exploring the Earth as a possible off-planet colony for my People. It happens every time. 

So here I am, still in the purple onesie from the West Vancouver United Church Flea Market, which I posted on here - I took it off in between though. The stirrup feet are miracles because they pull the fabric taut for an overall smoothing effect, which: 1) is calming when wearing a body-con outfit that flirts dangerously with my boundaries of public comfort; 2) provides streamlining for fast, comfortable deep space travel.

But first, let me write about that coat. That frickin' amazing coat from frickin' amazing Shelley of Forest City Fashionista. It came in a bulging envelope last week, along with something else equally amazing, which I am holding back from posting for delayed gratification. 

This photo is called golden leaf

Vivid fuchsia, vivid. By Danier, suede with shaggy fuchsia trim. It's almost (maybe, kinda, if-I'm-feelin'-glass-half-full) long enough for buttoxil area coverage (essential), but I brought along a stretch skirt in case I started feeling exposed, like I did behind the Strip shop below. Aliens must try to blend in.

They say, strip; I say, cover up. I'm practising being human by being unpredictable. Of course I wouldn't need the skirt if I were wearing a maxi coat, but this coat overruled all other outerwear considerations. Plus it has a secret weapon. Read on.

I swoon for that '60s groovy sci-fi vibe. Below, calling the Mother Ship with my Mantis. Or occupants of inter-planetary craft. Either will do, as long as their flight attendants serve Cheez Whiz ("processed cheese spread"), Space Food Sticks, ("developed for the U.S. Space Program"), and gherkin pickles (pickles).

I'm so glad I found this red wall! It's my first time here. These photos remind me of the piece Shelley did for VOGOFF magazine, where she's also calling her Mother Ship. 

The Purple People Eater, video clip, 1958 hit by Sheb Wooley)

When I was passing through Nordstrom during my inspiration walk, I ran into two friends who fell hard for this coat. Of course, I was keen to draw their attention to the glory of my spacesuit onesie as well, so I boldly hoisted the skirt to where no man has gone bef...* Oops, same era/genre, wrong script! To my high thighs to demonstrate its all-in-one-ness, which felt risqué, despite still being fully clothed. Well -

I needn't have worried one bit - they wouldn't have batted an eye if I had begun shooting ping-pong balls from my

Running in the vortex in Ackery's Alley

mouth, been wrapped in tentacles and slathered in Cheez Whiz and pickles - the coat had them in its thrall. They couldn't keep their hands off my cuffs and collar - the hypnotic power of the trim was alarmingly potent. (Note to self: Trim as secret weapon for future invasion strategy.) I almost had to Mantis them!

In the end, I gave up the onesie show and pulled my skirt back into place. Some stars, like the coat, shine brighter than others I suppose. 

Below, more evidence of the Fitted-Onesie Phenomenon (FOP) of super-sleuth/alien: my Emma Peel impression near the passport office, in a photo taken by Sandra Bernabei of Standard Deviations.

I'm wearing my vintage red wool knit onesie with original sewn-in belt at the hip, made by Gordi of Montreal. Also here. The seam threads were disintegrating so I had to resew the whole thing. Well worth it.

Below, a sneak peek in my bedroom. Is it possible I was abducted by one of the Occupants?!

And then I feast on a light breakfast. It's the new alternative energy.

To be clear, this post has been all about the SEO (search engine optimization), but you knew that, right? Now my blog will be inundated with hoards of women over 55 clamouring for tips on FOP. But to be fair, these tips can apply to any age. I'm sorry if I made anyone feel excluded.

That's it for now. I'll be linking up to Patti at Visible Monday on her blog Not Dead Yet Style and Catherine at #iwillwearwhatilike on her blog Not Dressed as Lamb.

May the FOP be with you, friends.

*From the original Star Trek TV series, 1966-69, line from the opening voiceover by Captain James T. Kirk. Relive it HERE.
Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before.
Okay, now you'll be humming that opening theme all day. You're welcome. Heh.

Saturday 11 November 2017

Clothes from church and HADES

Just to cover all my options, I am wearing clothes from both church and HADES in this post. Each of the small morality whisperers on my shoulders, angel on one, devil on the other, have finally gone to sleep in victorious exhaustion.

This first outfit features a wool Love Moshino suit, dark tartan with men's tie detailing on the jacket pockets and collar, and a bow of men's ties on the rear (sorry, no photo). There is also a men's tie sewn into the waist of the skirt, creating a distinctly masculine dangle effect.

I blush to tell you what I paid - very, very, very low two figures - my devil was laughing loudly, especially because I was in a church when I bought it, West Vancouver United Church, their Flea Market sale. The prices were borderline unholy!

My friend Yvonne S brought this suit to my attention. I have her to thank for this incredible addition to my manly suit collection. THANK YOU!

And the scarf, it is a heavenly item by fledgling British knitwear label HADES. They sent it to me as a gift, with no obligations whatsoever, but of course, how could I not write about it? It is thick, dense and plush, utterly toasty soft made from pure lambswool, handcrafted in Hawick, Scotland. I've been wearing it a LOT!

The scarf smells like the countryside (the pleasant part). The chances of finding something like this on my thrift sale rack are slim - it's the kind of piece that's handed down and down and around and around until it simply goes POOF.

As a reminder, Hades is also the name of the Greek god of the underworld, also called Hades (or hell these days). That would be like me saying, "Hi, I'm Melanie and now I must return home to Melanie."

Hades was guarded by the Hounds of Hell (loosely interpreted, everything I write here is loose). My home is guarded by my bloated closets. Enter at your peril. You can read more about Hades here. More about my closets here.

I pumped the photo levels above so you could see the fabric better. Yes, when I am excited the waist tie elevates - because I would be jumping of course. The ties are sewn right on there as part of the original design; they were not farked by a previous buyer.

I added my own tie to this styling but took it off - no need to belabour the point of ties with a cartoon hammer on the head.

I'm also wearing a vintage British men's overcoat by Dhobi, which is "showerproof."

Below is the box from HADES. I love opening parcels from the mail.

The sunny yellow goes great with the HADES name, but even better, they included two cute hair pins with a pink HADES with a headache. Hahaha!!! These are awesome. I'm going to a dinner party tonight and these would go perfectly with my outfit.

And next, oh dear oh dear oh dear. It came from church. We're not quite sure what "it" is yet, but it is sublime.

When I wear this, I'm in a sci-fi movie. The mantis pendant is my communicator with the Mother Ship.

This piece was also pointed out to me, this time by one of the incredible volunteers at the flea market. I couldn't grab it fast enough when she marveled how it is a one-piece with stirrup-style feet. I didn't even try it on - sometimes you just know.

There is another part to this - a high-thigh-length sleeveless vest that goes on top, same fabric, no buttons or zips, but the front opening is joined together along the hem, at the hip, with an infinity knot. I didn't include it in any of those photos because I like the bodysuit part best.

I made the pendant from a Donna Karan Christmas ornament years ago. Still, a mantis pendant only goes so far, don't you think? I still felt just a touch under-dressed.

So I added a little HADES to the mix. Much better. After all, this was sinfully low-priced.

The bodysuit outfit label is Linda Lundstrom, who is a highly-respected, award-winning Canadian designer of up-market clothes. I suspect this is one of her earlier works. So soft, maybe wool and cashmere...? I'll let you know if I find out more.

You can see the stirrup feet in the photo above. If only I had a silver puffer jacket to wear on top. That would be so cool!

This last shot shows you how big the scarf is. Huge snuggle power there.

If this scarf appeals to you, check out HADES' other scarves. They also sell pullovers and Ts made of fine merino wool in a selection of colours, lots of pastels. Gorgeous. And HADES is on Instagram.

I hope you've all had a fantastic week. I'm behind on my replies to your comments but I so appreciate them and shall catch up in the next couple of days.

Go forth and feel stellar, as I always say.

I'll link up to Patti's Visible Monday at Not Dead Yet Style and Catherine's #iwillwearwhatilike at Not Dressed as Lamb. Cheers!!!


PS. I was asked from the last post, if menopausal years are known as Wisecracking, what do we call the post-menopausal years?

I thought of the word Freebirds, having pecked or cracked through those constricting shells into full flight, along with allusions to giving the bird. But I think we can do better. Any suggestions? Let me know in your comments.

Thursday 2 November 2017

Wisecracking in High Heels

I can't believe what I've done! I've made (gulp) an "old" decision, old as in old age. Quick, get my fan and smelling salts on a black and white film set.

How could this have haaaappened? It's not too late to reverse my actions - probably. If I act fast. It's like my whole world has turned upside down. And it PISSES ME OFF!!

The catalyst? The Lourdes Embroidered Platform Heeled Sandals with 5.5-inch heel from Topshop, now 75% off. A mere year or two ago I would have leapt, paid, purred, and slunk home.

This time? I only made it as far as leapt. Then I PUT THEM BACK IN THE BOX!!!! But by god, we bonded in that short time together. I don't even know how I ended up in Topshop in the first place.
Clearly, I've been dipping my toes in -


It's a foreign, unfriendly land, full of, uh, low-heel shoes. Blast and damnation!! And why? Well, not because my feet are screaming at me, at least not loudly or daily. No.

I blame it on the season: fall, as in autumn. Insidious subliminal seasonal brainwashing. Fall, as in falling, as in down, as in fear of, as in slippery wet leaves.

Who decided to call it frickin' FALL anyway? I think I'll rename it HIGH HEELS.

Spring - Summer - HIGH HEELS - Winter 
Much better.

It's not too late to go back and buy my sweet Lourdes. These shoes are why we have training wheels. And skateboards with handsome young men who tow you with skipping ropes you so you don't even have to walk.

This has all been a horrific menopausal moment!

Oh, feck - that word menopause. Where do all of these ill-conceived words come from?

I ask you, who but a man would name a woman's life passage after his own gender? Men-o-pause, poor delicate creatures afraid of women blossoming into new-found wisdom and strength!!!! Yeah, it's all about how he feels. He pauses? Pffft.

At the very least it should be called women-o-freakout, although it doesn't exactly slide off the tongue.

Fine. How about this for a pause - from now on it shall be known as:

Wisdom breaking through the shells of self-sacrifice and self-denial

Heh. No more menopause! Blast that word!

I see doctors around the world now: "Yes, [insert name here], it appears you have hit your Wisecracking years," and then him/her running for cover under the gurney stirrups while [insert name here] screams with delight.

Where's my skateboard? Where's my skipping rope? (Where's O? Has anybody seen him? Oh, maybe that's his shaking toe sticking out from under the couch.)

Everything is a fog. Stumbling around on egregiously low heels. Stumbling towards that frickin' ecstasy, meanwhile praying to the Lourdes in their cardboard cradle for salvation.

At least I have my quintuple glasses to help see my way through. Well, in truth I only wear three pairs of glasses stacked (one regular, two reading glasses), not five, and only when I'm sewing with black thread at night. Works so well.

It's all about the focus.

Elevation not with the sole, but with thine eyes. Looking outwards, not at one's feet, to achieve a higher state of being, whilst eschewing the opportunity to grow up (at 75% off). Gaaaa!!

Quick! Bring more sequins before this ill-shod Wisecracker runs out of slipshod double-entendres.

And now clarity. Here's a sober view. That's an old low-rent hotel with the crosses of a local hospital and a long-armed crane across the block looking down on it. I couldn't get a better photo - there were people partying in the parking lot and I didn't think my kind of Wisecracking would be fully appreciated.

This view could definitely be enhanced with quintuple-self-elevating vision, with or without the black thread at night.

Speaking of black threads, I'm wearing my favourite (only) black blouse below. It has a weird stretchy fabric that feels borderline gross. And my train engineer pants with the saggy dropped crotch. The rear view is too special to share.

Wisecracking during High Heels

See? I'm not advertising anything in this post, although it's too bad. Topshop shoes for free wouldn't inspire fear, guilt or remorse nearly as bad as paid shoes, in the same way that chocolates received on special occasions have no calories. 

I hope you're having a lovely season so far. Here, the leaves are the colour of pumpkins. And there's something magical about Wisecracking under a High Heels moon. 

I'm off now to see if that's O under the couch or a guest I've forgotten about. 

I'll link up with Patti at Not Dead Yet Style, Visible Monday, and Catherine at Not Dressed As Lamb, #iwillwearwhatilike when the time comes. BUT WAIT! - What's that?!! 
A big unexpected PS! 

Using a little magic, I granted myself these shoes on Halloween. I'm glad they didn't turn into pumpkins at midnight - they would be much harder to walk in than heels.

It's amazing what 48 hours, since I wrote the first part, can do to a person. Heat, time, and pressure create diamonds. My own heat, time, and pressure got me shoes. Sure diamonds are good, but for only 48 hours on the clock, shoes ain't bad. 

Look, I'm space-borne!

Not exactly Twinkle Toes - better than Twinkle Toes! 

I went to a Halloween Party at Vancouver Barbara's place. So much fun! I wore this gown for the first time, purchased maybe a year ago at My Sister's Closet. The lace of the skirt is super soft, not picky. Underneath I wore one of my two hoop skirts. Check out that jewelled breastplate. It weighs a ton!

Okay, now you can go! Hahaha!! Thanks for visiting. 

 P O O F !!
I hope you had a wonderful Halloween!
 I howled at that High Heels moon. Did you?

Thursday 26 October 2017

Unleashing my inner wry sophisticate with OSKA

I'm a sucker for the daydreams that ooze from fine fabric, so when I find them in a thrift shop, I do a little happy dance. This time I ditched the dance and went full-on aria, as you'll see later, when the people who run OSKA boutiques in Canada agreed to my first-ever pitch to showcase some of their fall-winter line. They sell new clothing.

So yes, this is a sponsored post - so happy to do it! The fabrics, the colours, the cuts - you'll see why I couldn't resist. These clothes speak to my inner wry sophisticate. 

Sandra Bernabei was the photographer. So good.

Running on air in an OSKA coat, the Valina

I found out about OSKA at a fashion show at its West Vancouver boutique, as friend Barbara's +1. I didn't know about this label beforehand, but the clothes and air of camaraderie that night hooked me on the OSKA vibe. There is another OSKA shop in Canada, in Calgary, and it is sold at callidas in Edmonton

The models were customers and the audience was a fun-loving bunch of impeccably dressed women, which included many skilled sewers who can't resist the call of tantalizing textiles. 

A closeup of the fabrics I wore for this post.

Clockwise from top left: Xera hat, Vilma pullover, 
Vlada jacket, Valina coat, Xaveria gloves, Vamika trousers, Plissee scarf

These pieces are all boiled wool from mouline yarn exclusive to OSKA, except for the scarf, which is pure merino virgin wool, and the trousers, which are velvety soft baby corduroy. Luxurious all.

In the next photo, I'm a film star in an arty European romance, or think Dr. Zhivago without the snow and violence. I have an urge to speak to you in a foreign language, but with all this swooshy boldness at hand, we don't need words, do we, darling?

Conveniently, the drama level of these outfits is easily adjustable with the height of the hat. Me? I go full mast to accommodate my imagination and my tower hair. The hat is sturdy boiled wool with a cuffable ribbed brim. And there is a cute loop on top.

Koi looking for snackies

OSKA's designs are edgy, have a sophisticated Euro/Japanese twist, and even dreamier fabric than most labels I am familiar with. They are definitely a step up the chain. And the layering possibilities are endless.

In this next shot, I feel securely wrapped and snuggly warm. Chic. Successful with flexible quirk. Mysterious. When I'm not starring in a European film, I'm on my way to the gallery or my PR firm or mon petit chalet.

Xera cap

I wore the coat open and wraparound blanket style for these photos, but it has three front press-fasteners too (seen in first photo). The wide sleeves can be cuffed; I prefer bracelet length. And there are two oversized patch pockets.

And then presto - the whole vibe changes when I switch coats to the Vlada jacket in Jasper with its front zip and a hood that looks like a very wide collar when it's down.

There's also a better view of the trouser's complex seaming which creates that cool silhouette. The trousers have a front zip and elastic back, and you know what that means, don't you? - partay at the buffet!

The pullover is light OSKA-boiled wool, toasty and ultra soft. Those are my own shooties and socks. And of course I'm wearing my magic loupe by O (see sidebar).

Vlada jacket in Jasper, Vilma pullover and Vamika trousers in Merlot colour

The baby corduroy trousers have a Prince-of-Wales print and stressed edges (just like me!)

Sandra and I had lots of fun on this shoot, which was no surprise. I tried to puff out the hood in a version of Alien lite, but it kept collapsing into enhanced normalcy.

Below is the jacket zipped with the hood down. Check out the line of the trousers.

And a little Obi-Wan Kenobe action from the original Star Wars - I'm old-school that way. We thought I should levitate, so I did.

The zipper on this coat goes all the way up, sort of an infinity zipper, which is extremely handy if you're having a bad hair-and-face day. I hope you don't need this feature, especially if you're driving, but I think the zipper is an excellent playful and distinctive detail whether you use it or not. 

The gloves have a ribbed cuff for adjustable length, and the palm side has double padding. These would be awesome Christmas gifts! Fer real - not because this is sponsored.

Finally, as so often happens when I'm inspired by the coloratura of my clothing, I burst into in aria in the lobby of this building. But what's that?! Suddenly I noticed the pianist was missing, a vexing problem when mappoggiatura (the singer starts with a wrong note then slides into the right one) tends to get stuck at the starting line.

Every few bars I ran over to play the piano myself - opera back-and-forth style. It's a new thing. The piano is a Fazioli, the best there is. Any other brand I would not deign to touch. In fact, the sign there telling me not to touch this one too was a tremendous excuse to exercise my mastery at air-piano. It's an art.

Some people are born with great clothes; some have great clothes thrust upon them; and, some achieve great clothes. Well, these clothes were too late for the birth thing, but it's definitely a combo of the next two. A big win-win collaboration.

I love OSKA, and I know that those of you who are feeling restless with your wardrobe, especially if you tend to dress on the quieter end of the scale, would love the soft slap and wrap these clothes would bring to your style. 

And for those of you elsewhere on the scale, you can mold these pieces any which way, as I did, in the lap of luxury, darling. Now excuse me. My agent just called and said Hollywood wants me to star in a documentary based on Florence Foster Jenkins. Who is she? (HERE)

That's all. If you want to know more about OSKA, check these links: Vancouver FacebookVancouver OSKACalgary OSKACalgary PinterestCalgary Facebook, and callidas in Edmonton.


I'll link up to Catherine at Not Dressed as Lamb, #iwillwearwhatilike, when the time comes. Of course I'll join Judith at Style Crone for her Hat Attack #52, November. How could I miss that?

Regular programming will resume in the next post. Mwah!! I'm just trying to keep things lively. We all need a kick in our baby corduroys from time to time.

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