Safety wear for the stylish woman

We were walking in tandem, me on one side of the fence, the construction guy on the other. He looked over and said, "That could be a safety vest."

I replied, "Yes, it is!"

Well, technically it's a life jacket so I get double the protection of a mere vest.

This paillette jacket protects me from psychic debris. Whew. There is so much of it around!

With my construction gear I'm wearing my rockstar pants, which are thrifted low-riders that I upcycled with Sharpie markers and acrylic paint, featured several times on Bag'n'B. They were noticed by Paul Stanley of the band KISS the first time I wore them. I was in a shoe store and oblivious to his presence, but my friend Sandra of standard.deviations clued me in later. I'm bummed that I didn't get the chance to ask him for pointers on how to wear platform boots with aplomb and his favourite makeup remover. I love that guy!

And I'm wearing my upcycled T-shirt, "I am my own brand," which I would change to "I am NOT a brand" if I were to do it again. Those are my super-duper discounted Topshop platform sandals.

Below I'm raising my arms to the universe. I was in the concrete studio but I digitally edited myself into a photo I took of the beach the other day.

Schlep schlep schelp schelp seems to be the little cartoon sound of my feet as they release from the hard reality suction of the concrete sidewalk. Each step schlep. How tiresome. This is also why safety gear is a top priority. One must never get sucked in by hardness!

Other protective construction pieces I wore recently.

That outfit features a vintage dress with a tulip hem. It's a fairly substantial brocade fabric, fully lined, too big and heavy for a dress, so I snipped it up the front and turned it into a coat. The sparkly owl pendant is from Patti of Not Dead Yet Style.

And I almost always go out with one of my parasols from Lily-Lark.

Below are my "safety" glasses, which I got from Vint & York in New York. They make me feel like a psychiatrist with panache and a love of the arts. Don't ask me why. Sandra, standard.deviations, thrifted that Maison Martin Margiela for H&M wool darted jacket. Sweeeet. Ever grateful to her.

And of course, I also wore this:

And then when I get home I unwind with Kitty.

Those are the highlights of my week, my friends. Remember: Always suit up. Always protect yourself from those harmful rays of negativity.

I'm linking up to Patti at Not Dead Yet Style for Visible Monday and Catherine at Not Dressed as Lamb for #iwillwearwhatilike.

What do you use for safety gear?!

Search words: Egypt, zigzags, oil rig, Pao

This is how I walked downtown today, like an Egyptian hieroglyph. "No drama here, everyone. Thaaat's right. Move along. Resume your usual activities. Move along," yelled the strange man who had joined me out of nowhere to direct traffic with these scripted lines I had scribbled quickly as I ran out the door. Walking like this is serious business and I was glad of the help. When I returned home I spent several hours by the pool nibbling nippies (last eaten here) and imbibing martinis to regain my strength for a fancy dress ball on my favourite oil rig in the Bering Sea later this evening.

Naturally, amazing things happen when you wear amazing clothing like this fine gown courtesy of gob-stoppingly talented Pao of Project Minima, and her mother who used to wear it and who sadly passed away not long ago. The magic of Pao's mum still definitely inhabits this dress, made by Paul Stanley of New York - I have never had so many compliments on a dress before. EVER!

The dress is a vanilla-coloured knit with brown zigzags and a huge chocolate velvet bow belt which fluttered wonderfully in the light sea breeze. I'm also wearing my thrifted D&G shoes, blue paisley socks, and wonder-butt Italian pantyhose. I first wore this dress here, Kiss of the drunken spider woman.

The dress in motion, above, so much better than static. The first and last photos, set in my garbage room atelier, are from a video clip so they are slightly grainy. That's my new haircut too - I had to say good-bye to my Warholian locks which were starting to curl at the nape of my neck. My grey hair blends well with the platinum but soon I'll need more decolouring as well. Life is an unending rhythm of sloughing and shedding and changing colour, with drooping. [Edit: I put on my cartoon face later in July]

I think I'll link this one up to Patti at Visible Monday, unless I post again before then. Who knows? Walking on the wild side, we tend to live one. day. at. a. time. Achoo. I'm finally able to get back into making the rounds so I'll see you soon!

Rockstar pants meet rockstar

These pants were beige, were beige, until yesterday. Now look what I've done.

These beggarly beasts of beigy blandness were headed straight for the trash bin barring immediate colour intervention, so I attacked them viciously with my Sharpies and acrylic paint. 

Who cares that they are now slightly crusty to the touch? Not I. 

Who cares that the earth may shake and split open and swallow them live if I try to wash them? Not I. 

Who cares that a sudden downpour would tan my legs blue? Um, yeah, that would suck.

In these photos taken by O I'm wearing flats because I was walking on boardwalks, but this morning on my inspiration walk, for the debut of these psychedelic pants, nothing but heels would do, you betcha. My legs beamed electric rays at everyone within eyeshot - we're talking hundreds of meters here. I warped into an echoing world of rockstars and strange hotels and room service with rubbery eggs and toast held upright in metal thingies. And mini bars. And chocolates, wrapped, on my pillow. Helping to create the mood was the satiny shirt that O used to wear when he played gigs in Tokyo. 

Details

• upcycled pants, thrifted, DIY
• satiny top, from O, I won't say vintage
• heels not shown, D&G, thrifted
• magic loupe, made for me by O
• airship whale and ghost-on-a-swing pendants, from friend Monique
• black leather belt, thrifted

On my way home, Sandra and I dropped by an upscale shoe store where I delivered a couple of t-shirts I'd made for the managers who'd fallen for my "I have nothing to wear" shirt they'd seen me in a week ago. I couldn't deny their pleas - they are such cool women.

Then later, at a stoplight a few blocks from the store, Sandra turned and asked me, "You know who that was, right?" "Who who was?" I had no idea what she was talking about. "That was Paul Stanley (me: blank face) - of KISS." Apparently he had been smiling at me in the store. Gaaa! I was completely oblivious. Clearly he had been HIT-NO-TIZED by my rockstar pants, sucked in by their colossal rockstar tractor beam. Or, wait, maybe it was my larval brows, aqua pools of wriggly wonder, or maybe it was my yellow eyelids! Quickly I asked Sandra if she'd like to go back and watch Mr. Stanley - after all, she is a true rock fan. But, nah. What for? I didn't even know his name when she told me anyway. So we continued down the road preferring to create our own little rock star moments than pick at the flecks of glitter in another celebrity's wake.

It's very freeing once in a while to realize there is no Celebrity Mall with special Celebrity Stores. We're just people, often with two arms, two legs, some with better teeth and manicures. And it's not who you know (unless it's someone tremendously powerful who is a nice person rather than a power-rapist-type person) but rather what we make of ourselves that counts. Blah, blah, blah, birds sing, flowers sprout. But I have to say, KISS rocks, by definition.

See you over at Patti's truly delicious rock garden, Visible Monday, at her blog Not Dead Yet Style, where we can all fantasize about KISS platform boots! Have you had any brushes with celebrities lately? Have a great weekend everyone. (I wrote this post on Saturday.)

I have a Yellow Skirt update coming up...